


Stars Don't Come Down

by nymja



Series: Crossroads [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst Train, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Implications of suicide, Knights of the Old Republic vibes, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Slow Build, Strung-Out Force Prophecy, the lightsabers are a metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 103,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6515818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymja/pseuds/nymja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben doesn’t know who it is, but he’s looking for someone. </p><p>Sequel to The Death of Kylo Ren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Jedi Killer

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back! Happy late birthday to ignitesthestars/hannah and happy early(?) birthday to sofyan17!

It’s been three years since there was a Jedi in known space.

Which explains the stares from the patrons of the restaurant. But the Jedi keeps her pace even, her back straight, and doesn’t withdraw the light grey hood which covers her head. Instead, she keeps her senses open and mind alert. There isn’t a bounty on her, exactly, but being here is a message she knows she’s sending.

The woman she’s approaching doesn’t look up, her elbow resting on her knee as she gazes out at the endless expanse of ocean from her table on the deck. Her body is nearly covered from head to toe in black, except for her face, which is lined and grooved, tattoos and _cracks_ burrowed into her skin. It reminds the Jedi of the old oasis on Jakku, long since dried up, and the dry, painful scars left in the desert ground.

“Sit,” the woman commands, and the Jedi is shocked at the sound of her voice. It’s light, almost airy, at odds with the clothes and wounds and profession. The woman’s eyes slide to look at her, one green and bright against the grey of her skin the other roving and cybernetic, buried in a gash that still does not look healed.

The Jedi sits. She folds her hands into the sleeves of her robe.

“Last of the Jedi,” the woman muses. “Years ago, there was nothing I wanted more than for someone like you to be buried in a sarlaac pit.”

The Jedi doesn’t move. The woman shifts, revealing that in addition to the gash of her eye, there is a large tear along her cheek that looks almost necrotic.

“You’re here for a purpose.” The woman folds her arms on the table, resting her chin on them and looking up. “Let us find it for you.”

The Jedi dips her chin.

“I’m here for Janara Ren.”

The woman smiles, and the corners of her mouth break with the motion. “You’ve traveled a long way, Jedi Killer. Let me buy you a drink before we begin.”

The Jedi gives a short nod.

Janara lifts two of her fingers—scarred and mottled—and a Selkath comes to take their order. The server takes a look at the two women, and his fish-like eyes go wide.

“No trouble,” he warns in Selkatha.

“Two Corellian brandies,” Janara states flatly, not looking at him.

He sends them both a wary look, but retreats. Janara’s roving eye trains on him as her organic one settles on the Jedi. “It was only a matter of time,” she concedes. “After Kylo and Thudro-Shan.”

The Jedi doesn’t say anything. The red crystal hanging around her neck glints from the sun reflected by the ocean’s surface.

Janara’s cybernetic eye shifts to rest on the Jedi as well. “Kylo killed Skywalker. Are you after something as simple and common as revenge?”

The Jedi closes her eyes. “I’m looking for someone.”

“The _monk_.”

“Yes.”

Janara gives her a flat, assessing stare. “He’s talked about you since he was a child. Obsessed.”

“I know.”

“So what will you do, when you find your monk.”

“Kill him.”

The Selkath arrives with their drinks. Janara’s mottled fingers wrap around her glass. Her thin, cracked lips form a tight line in thought. After a moment, she nods.

“I respect your journey. More than I should. But I cannot simply give you a fellow Knight of Ren.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you.” Janara brings her drink to her lips and takes a sip. “It’s been years since I have had anything of my homeworld,” she says, lifting the glass up. The liquid shines amber.

“I can wait,” the Jedi says.

Janara nods, and finishes her drink. The Jedi doesn’t touch hers. When the empty glass is set back on the table, a green and cybernetic eye roll up to meet her gaze.

“Now we achieve your purpose.”

There’s the sound of two electric weapons igniting, and screams fill the restaurant.

\--  
  


Later, a message that will go unanswered is patched to an old Corellian freighter:  
  
_Rey, please come home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Fic title is from [this quote](http://gizkasparadise.tumblr.com/post/141994926562/in-one-timeline-we-kiss-but-the-stars-dont-come) by Elizabeth Hewer
> 
> -Janara Ren is an adaptation/expy of [Darth Sion](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Darth_Sion)
> 
> -[Selkath](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Selkath/Legends)


	2. The General

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set-up chapter! Thanks everyone for your excitement with this project :D

-  
**Rey.**  
-

_Rey’s half asleep, but she knows immediately where she is. The grass is cold and damp under her cheek, the fire crackles in her ears. She shifts her mind awake, opening her eyes and looking across the camp._

_Luke smiles at her from underneath his hood, his mechanical hand glinting in the dark like a signal fire._

_“Luke,” she says, unbearably happy for reasons she doesn’t yet realize. Rey pushes herself up into a seat. She’s wearing the training outfit she wore five years ago, when she went to give him his father’s lightsaber for the first time. The clouds above Ahch-To are heavy with oncoming rain._

_“You’re going to have to wake up.” He turns, off-white hood shifting with the motion._

_Rey sighs, settling back to the ground. “I’m tired.”_

_“I know.”_

_Her heart twists. “And I miss you.”_

_His voice goes softer. “I know.”_

_She rests her hand over her eyes. Suddenly feeling the urge to cry. “…are you angry with me?”_

_“No.” Luke turns back to the fire. “Just sad.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_His hood covers his face. “You need to wake up, Rey.”_

_“Can’t I stay?”_

_“Not this time.” Luke fades, becoming less real. The fire dims from the edges, leaving only the dark._

_“Luke?” She asks, a hitch in her voice. “Luke!”_

_His voice is the only thing that stays, a parting thought._

_“Take slow breaths. Just like last time.”_

_“What-?”_

_“Wake up, Rey.”_

_\--_

Rey jerks back into consciousness with a muted gasp. Her eyes dart around, wildly, as she tries to orientate herself. She’s…underwater? No, that’s not right. A tank. She’s in a tank.

It’s kolto, a stronger variant of bacta. And it’s found only on Manaan. The memories of the fight with Janara come back to her, and Rey tries to look down at her abdomen. The woman had pierced the side of it, just missing her kidney, before escaping.  She can’t see the whole thing from where she hangs suspended, but Rey catches an edge of pale, puckered skin.

“Good morning, Rey.”

She startles, head swerving when she recognizes _that voice._

Aalto Ren stands in front of her, dressed in a simple black tunic and pants that reminds her of a monk. He tilts his head.

“You were almost killed. By _Janara._ I told you I couldn’t help from the ocean,” he scolds.

Rey watches as he uncurls his hand and presses it against the casing of her kolto tank. She can’t speak with the breathing apparatus in her mouth, but she feels the promise weigh down as though it is a physical weight on her chest.

_I’m coming for you._

As if he hears her, Aalto’s lips twitch into a grin. “I can’t wait.”

He takes a slow step, another. His hand still pressed against the casing, his eyes trained on her. Rey watches him, her fingers twitching-

A hairline crack forms on the tank. Aalto’s eyes flash with anticipation.

“Almost,” he promises. “You’re almost there.”

He presses his forehead against the tank, just a little bit above where her own hangs suspended. He closes his eyes and sighs, relaxing.  Rey fights down bile, and the hairline crack spiders out with a violent noise.

“Getting warmer, Rey.” The hand not on the casing stretches outward to the side. Rey follows it with her eyes, seeing his fingers extended toward the support connectors. They are what power her tank. Watch her vitals. Give her breathing apparatus air. They’re keeping her alive.

“I promise I’ll be patient for you.”

Aalto clenches his hand into a fist. The connecter snaps. Rey screams, slow bubbles forming in the thick, syrupy substance.

He winks. “See you soon.”

Rey tries to move her hand, her mind prying at the crack, trying to get it to splinter before she runs out of air.

Aalto’s footsteps echo as he walks away without a look back.

Rey remembers Luke, and does her best to take slow breaths.

 

\--  
**Ben.  
** \--

The lights flicker on and off. The ship is trembling, making it impossible to keep a grip on, well, _anything._

And there’s a tension headache blooming between his eyes. Typical. “Is the air pressure low?”

“What?” The pilot screams over the abrasively loud engines. The Gamorrean’s eyes are small in his pig-like face, and don’t particularly shine with intelligence.

He braces his arm against one of the side railings as the ship shakes violently back and forth. “Is. The air pressure. Low!”

“What?!”

Ben clenches his jaw. With slow movements, he keeps a grip on the guardrail and makes his way for the life support system. Bracing himself, as the ship begins to hit _yet another_ patch of turbulence, he bends down to see that-

“HERE!” Grunts out the Gamorrean, and the ship makes a CLUNK as it settles on the surface of Takodana.

Ben is launched up at the momentum and lands hard on his back, the air whooshing out from his lungs. He glares at the patchwork ceiling above him. He’s worked on some junkers before, but _The Nematid_ is in the top five. Angry and annoyed, he decides to just lay there for a moment. At least until his ears stop ringing and he recovers his breathing.

The pilot, obviously, isn’t having it. After a few minutes, Ben feels a large foot toe into his side.

“Mechanic tired?” The Gamorrean says with a large grin, a string of drool hanging from one of his tusks.

His upper lip twitches. “Not when pilot land.”

The Gamorrean’s grin fades, piggy eyes squinting. “Pilot _did_ land-“

He doesn’t bother to wait for whatever it is the pig has to say. Instead he rolls to his side, scoops up his utility pack, and hoists it over his shoulder. His back makes a nice popping sound as he stands, and Ben cracks his neck from side to side as he starts to get the hell off this bucket of bolts.

“How much owe?”

Ben sighs, raising his hand in a dismissive gesture over his shoulder. “Take it up with Maz.”

\--

Takodana. He wants to be anywhere else.

Maz’s place is the same as it’s always been, an old, great castle now a patchwork of scaffolds and half-hewn walls. The lack of a ceiling doesn’t stop Maz, or her customers, since the place is busy as ever. Ben knows he has a sour expression on his face as he shoulders through the throngs of pirates, smugglers, and fugitives, not bothering to acknowledge any of the greetings sent his way. The trip was a short one—just a three day run to one of the outlying planets of the Hapes consortium—and he wishes it was longer. He wishes they _all_ were longer. He crosses the port until the familiar archways of Maz’s place come into view. His eyes drift from sigil to sigil, taking in all the colorful banners that hang from old connector cables.

“Don’t look so happy to be home,” comes an older voice from the stone stairwell.

Ben pauses in his step. Only a handful of people could manage to accomplish that. “Dameron.”

At the top of the steps is a man with sharp features, despite his age. He makes his way down the stairs with a light jog, hair that was once black but now peppered waving slightly in the breeze. His heavy, calloused hand claps Ben on the shoulder and the contact makes his teeth grit.

“Kes,” he corrects for the thousandth time, brown eyes further wrinkling in the corners.

Ben pushes his lips together. Then looks beyond the old man, into the cantina. “Where’s Maz?”

“Accounting.”

“So she sent you to fetch me.”

“You’re a grown man, I don’t need to do any fetching.”

What might just be a grin fights its way to his face. “Security, then.”

Kes snorts, jutting his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants and walking forward. Ben follows, slowing his pace to match the shorter man’s. “That’s more my speed, kid.”

“Thought I was a grown man.”

“Matter of perspective. Mine’s old.”

Ben keeps walking, nose wrinkling in distaste as cigarro smoke begins to filter into the air. The slow music that Maz favors hits his ears, and he watches the room pause as he and Kes step in together.

“My boy!” Maz’s voice trills out, and Ben watches sullenly as the small, orange figure cuts across the room to extend her arms up in the air.

Kes leans down and allows her to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him on both cheeks. “You’re the only one in the universe who’d call me that, Maz.”

She slaps him lightly on the spot she just kissed. “A proud privilege. How long have you been on my planet?"

Kes looks at the chrono on his wrist. "Ten standard minutes."

"Took your time saying hello to me, hmm?"

"Never."

"And Ben!” She turns, adjusting the frames of her spectacles. “In one piece, I see. How was Hapes?”

Without preamble, he withdraws the bag from his shoulder and holds it out to her. “Here.”

Maz makes a dismissive motion with her hand. “We'll count credits later.” Her eyes glint beneath the ridiculous lenses. “First, you have a visitor.”

Ben tenses, annoyance filling him. Leave it to Maz to schedule appointments while he was off planet and unable to protest them. “Who is it.”

She stretches up to wipe away a smudge of grease on his cheek. “Your usual.” She points a long, orange finger at him in warning. “Behave.”

He glares. Maz’s tone picks up an edge.

“Ben Kanata, _behave._ ”

Ben sends her an acidic look, before pivoting on his heel and making his way to one of the private rooms.

With his back facing them, he misses the calculated glace between Kes and Maz.

\--

He’s not surprised to see the General the moment he parts back the curtain. The old woman sits in the room like she owns the castle, her small frame poised and set with perfect posture. One leg folded over the other. Arms crossed. Not a hair out of place on the braid that circles her head like a crown.

Ben leans against the door frame, and tries not to lash out.

“Nothing’s changed,” he greets flatly, meeting her brown stare when she looks up at him.

The General doesn’t smile, not quite. But there’s always something about her that’s inviting, despite all reason and evidence pointing to the contrary. She tips her chin at the seat across from her. “Heard you just got in.”

“Small run,” he says guardedly. When the old woman doesn’t do anything, he gives in with an annoyed surrender and sits across from her. His legs are too long for underneath the table, so he bends them sharply at the knee and lets one foot rest on the other. “It’d be easier for you to hail a comm channel.”

“So you remind me. Every time I come to visit.” The General closes her eyes. The arms across her chest tighten, as if she’s fighting to keep them there. “Let’s start with the usual, Ben. What do you remember?”

He sighs, voice taking on an automatic quality after giving this information once every three months for as long as he can remember. “My name is Ben Kanata. I was a mechanic with the Resistance.” He scowls. “There isn’t much after that.”

“Anything else?” The General asks in that nearly hopeful tone that he has grown to hate.

_“Ben,” a woman cries._

His fingers press down against the table.

_“Don’t leave,” comes the sound of his own voice._

_“I won’t.”_

“Just a woman promising not to leave.” His lips twitch.  He stares at his hands as he snorts. “Looks like she's a liar.”

The General’s fingers drum against her arms, eager to hold something. “What do you remember about the woman?”

He looks up to send the General an annoyed glare. Her eyes soften.

“Humor me,” she mutters.

Ben sighs. “Just the voice.”

“And?” The General prompts, the pair of them having had this conversation nearly a dozen times before.

_He watches engine lights become pinpricks in the sky._

“That’s it. Same as always.” He pushes himself back in his seat. “Anything else, General?”

She’s silent for a moment, lips pressed tight and eyes somewhat dim. For a moment, he feels what might be pity for her, though he doesn’t know why. Takodana’s immune to most politics, but even he knows Leia Organa is not a figure that needs or wants sympathy.

“No, Ben,” she says in a voice that is just a bit tired, just a bit broken. “That’ll be all.”

Ben watches her for a beat before nodding, carefully unfolding himself into a stand. He makes a few steps toward the doorway before he pauses. His fingers curl into a fist against the frame.

“General?”

Her voice hitches with the little breath she releases. “Yes?”

“…I’d like to be considered for reenlistment. With the Resistance.”

She’s silent. When she speaks again, there’s a hint of forced amusement in her tone. “Tired of playing pirate?”

He scowls. “Tired of waiting.” For someone. For something.

The General gives a hum. “I’ll talk to Maz. See what I can do.”

“Like last time.”

“Maybe like last time.”

He snorts, shaking his head and taking a step out of the room. “Whatever you say, General.”

“Ben-“

“What.”

The General sighs. “Just. Take care of yourself.”

He leaves with a half-hearted and ill-practiced salute.

“If that’s what you want. Sir.”

No other words are exchanged as he leaves the room.

\--

Cold seeps into his back, but Ben doesn’t pay it any mind as he leans further against the crate. Maz’s place never sleeps, but there’s a few hours between night and morning where it gets still. And it’s during those times that he catches himself out here on the shipping yard—a routine he’s made for himself. Or maybe it’s one he’s always had. He’ll never know.

The stars shine in dim little flickers as the ruby-red sunrise of Takodana emerges on the horizon. He watches them, tracing patterns he doesn’t know. Maybe they’re made up. Maybe they’re constellations. Maybe one of them is where he lost his mind in an accident while serving the very General who visits him every three months just to ask the same questions.

Maybe one of them’s home.

_Don’t leave._

He frowns. Watches the sun rise.

He’s still here. Nowhere else. And it doesn't look like anyone out there has missed him.

\--

“You know,” Maz says wryly as Ben fights back another yawn, “This is what happens when you watch things that don’t move.”

He grunts as he hauls another crate of smuggled goods out from _The Nematid._ Maz hangs by his elbows, checking off inventory. “What’s what happens?”

“Nothing.” She reaches up to smack him on the arm with her datapad. “Watch those converters. They’re worth ten of you.”

Ben fights down the growl of frustration as he moves another crate. He hopes, fruitlessly, for silence, but that’s not Maz’s way and they both know it.

“How long’s it been?” She extends a finger. “One year? Two?”

“Three.”

“Three! Three years and a head still in the clouds,” she makes a clucking noise, scrolling through her list of pirated goods. “Don’t you drop that!”

He fights down the urge to bark back, but has long learned his lesson there concerning Maz. Instead, he bites down the response, and readjusts his grip. The box is heavy, but fragile. Probably focusing lenses. “Three years and no memories.”

“What good are memories? They don’t move anything forward.” Maz sends him an arch look somewhat hampered by the goggles. “You’ve made a place here. Look at _it,_ not the sky.”

He frowns, dragging out another crate. This one squeals and he glares at it. “And do what? I can barely remember most repairs, and I was supposed to be a mechanic.”

Maz laughs. “Broken things can be rebuilt.” She gestures at the half-formed castle behind them. “No matter what destroys them.”

Ben can feel another _story_ coming on. About the Empire, the First Order, or, maker help him, _The Force._ He sends her a warning look, hoping it’s enough to stopper her from yet another—for someone telling him memories are no good, Maz Kanata spends a lot of time in the past.

He’s startled when instead her fingers curl around his hand. Ben looks down to see Maz staring up at him intently.

“The General left this morning.”

“So.”

“No goodbyes, I take it.”

“Why would I?”

“It would do you well to spend some time with her,” Maz chastises, letting go of his fingers with a motherly pat. “That woman is stronger than the whole of the galaxy. You could do for strength.” Again that wry look. “And patience.”

“Patience for _what_.”

Maz tsks. “Don’t go looking for purpose, Ben. Or it won’t find you.”

Anger wells up in him. “And what is that supposed to mean.”

“For now, it means your mind’s not on the task.” She blinks, the action magnified by the glass. “So go inside, and see what Kes can find for you today.”

He sends her a sour look, but obeys.

\--

Kes only has an ale for him. The two men sit at a small table in the corner of the cantina, smoke stinging Ben’s eyes. His hands and arms are stained black from the engine work, but Kes isn’t the type to care about such things. Instead, the old man only drinks from his cup, refilling Ben’s once it goes empty.

Ben takes a drink, and looks at the old spacer. He’s known Kes for a little over two years now, a retired soldier turned mercenary who often made pit stops at Maz’s castle. Most days the older man was like a shadow, close and silent, and always emanating an echo of grief despite never speaking of its source.

“Heard you tried to reenlist,” Kes finally starts, ordering another round. The dog tags that hang around his neck glint from underneath his shirt.

“I need to _do_ something.”

“You are doing something.”

“Smuggling,” Ben says with a dark tone of dissatisfaction. “Fixing junkers. That’s not my purpose.”

Kes’s brows raise. “So what’s your purpose.”

His grip tightens on his glass. “I don’t know.”

“Maz took you in,” Kes starts pointedly. “Didn’t have to.”

Ben snorts, draining the rest of his cup. “So I hear every time I fry a fuse.”

Kes is quiet for a few moments, considering his next words carefully. “What makes you want to join up with the Resistance?”

Ben tilts his head. “What made you want to quit?”

Something dark crosses the older man’s expression. Ben’s question goes unanswered. He sighs.

“I need to be something again.”

Kes tenses. “…again?”

Ben leans forward. “Had to have been someone, if Leia Organa is coming to check on me herself.”

The older man rubs his chin. “The Princess would check on everyone if she could.”

Something old and angry worms its way into his chest at the statement. Ben turns away from the old man, eyes scouring the cantina. He recognizes a few of the regulars—the traveling Bith band, the Devronian pirates, the Zabrak bounty hunter-

-something in Ben _stirs,_ and he doubles back to look at the bounty hunter again. In the Zabrak’s tattooed hand is a small holocomm, with a grainy, blue picture flickering on it, depicting a destroyed restaurant. It’s a news reel.

“Ben.”

Ben turns to face the holonet screen closer to his side of the cantina. His eyes narrow in on the footer of Aurabesh that crawls:

ASSAULT IN A LOCAL RESTAURANT ON MANAAN. WITNESSES SAY A YOUNG, HUMAN WOMAN FLED THE SCENE-

“Ben?”

The holonet shifts, revealing a single still frame. The quality is poor and distorted, but there’s the figure of a woman wearing a grey cloak. The hood pulled up to hide her face. There’s a flicker of light—silver, he thinks—emerging from either end of her hand-

“Is that a Jedi?” He asks, incredulous.

Ben turns, and sees that Kes has gone very still.

“…could be anyone,” the older man finally settles on, his face paler than normal.

“I thought they were myths."

“One’s not,” Kes says, almost too quiet for Ben to hear.

Ben shrugs, the news story already fading to the back of his mind. By the time the afternoon arrives, the woman in grey is forgotten in favor of focusing on a hypersled Maz wants him to repair.

\--                                                                                        

But that night, when he’s trying to sleep, Ben imagines an ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The amazing and wonderful NeitiCora has drawn a picture of the Rey + Aalto tank scene!!! [LOOK AT IT, IT'S AMAZING.](http://neiticora.tumblr.com/post/145970463166/stars-dont-come-down-by-gizkasparadise-rey)
> 
> -[Kolto](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Kolto) aka Super Bacta
> 
> -[Manaan](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Manaan)
> 
> -[Gamorreans](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Gamorrean/Legends)
> 
> -[Kes Dameron](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Kes_Dameron) aka Poe's poppa!


	3. FN-2187

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone for the comments on the last chapter! i'll be getting to them shortly <3 
> 
> also [NeitiCora](http://neiticora.tumblr.com) has created beautiful fanart of a scene in The Death of Kylo Ren. Check it out [here!!!](http://neiticora.tumblr.com/post/142858433256/the-death-of-kylo-ren-by-gizkasparadise-he)

\--  
**Rey.  
** \--

She coughs, a hollow and wet sound that sends out liquid onto the ground. Her cheek is pressed against the wet floor, her body lying on top of what she assumes is shattered casing. With a groan, she pushes herself up using her palms, the cold instantly settling into her bones. Teeth chattering, Rey wraps her arms around her and looks down. She’s in her underclothes, body riddled with new scars and markings made by who she hopes is a medic.

Behind her, a kolto tank is split clean in half.

Rey staggers, pushing herself up into a hunched-over stance. Her stomach aches, the impalement wound still not fully healed. She has just enough time to register the flashing lights, the warnings on the tank, before she hears footsteps on the ground.

Rey pivots, and throws up her open hand-

-a Stormtrooper pauses right before it, as if frozen to the spot.

“Who are you?” Rey demands with clenched teeth.

“JB-007.”

She glares. “Where am I?”

“Ahto City, Manaan.”

“And this building?”

“An old research facility. A safehouse of the First Order.”

Kriff. Rey attempts to straighten, squaring back her shoulders even though the movement makes her body scream. “Why am I here?”

The Stormtrooper hesitates-

“ _Why_ am I here?”

“Lord Ren is contacting Supreme Leader Snoke. You’re to be sent to him-“

“Which Ren? And how many of the First Order are here?”

“Janara. Just her and a security detail of ten Stormtroopers, two pilots.”

Rey exhales. “How long until I’m supposed to be sent to Snoke?”

“You were scheduled to be transported in the kolto tank. Ten standard minutes ago we were to begin preparations for your escort.”

Meaning Aalto tried to help her break out. She’s going to have to process that later. “Where are my things?”

The Stormtrooper points to a storage locker.

“Open it. Bring the items to me.”

The Stormtrooper obeys, and Rey instantly uncoils when her lightsaber is once again in her grip. She dresses, keeping her mental hold on the man. “Where’s the nearest exit?” She asks while strapping on her boots.

“Two lefts, a side panel leads you to the luxury district.”

Rey nods, pulling her arms into her grey robe. “You are going to stay here for fifteen minutes. After that, you are going to go to Dantooine and rethink your life.”

“I’m going to rethink my life.”

“Good.” Rey presses her two fingers against his helmet, removing all memories of her with a quick and well-practiced gesture.

Then she does what she does best. And runs.

\--  
**Ben.  
** \--

He’s about ready to punt an Ewok.

Ben looks down at the datapad, scowling as he runs through the list of repairs Maz sent to him earlier that morning. Standard stuff that Ben knows is busy work, but he’ll take it. At least it pays.

“Seen Maz?” He grunts at Ta’al, one of the smugglers from _Ermes,_ a regular ship in their port.

The Rodian throws his arms up. Cries out a complaint that Ben does not fully understand. Something about a busted carburetor-

Ben glares and keeps walking. Useless. He’s spent about an hour trying to hunt her down to sign off on some requisition forms, but the old woman’s been scarce this morning. He’s taller than most, and uses his height to his advantage as he scans the rest of the docking area. He doesn’t see her animated, orange figure cutting across it. Ben clenches his jaw, and walks toward the entrance of the cantina.

Smoke billows out the door, and he looks for Kes in his usual spot in the corner by the holonet. But the old man’s not there, and neither is Maz.

His grip tightens on the datapad. It’s _forms_ and he’s not in the mood to spend his morning hunting her down-

Ben storms off down a hall without thinking about it, fist clenched loosely at his side. He searches the doors and doesn’t stop until he hears Kes’s voice from further down the walkway. It’s muted, distorted from being behind stone, but Ben moves toward it. There’s a guest room with the door slightly ajar, not Kes’s usual quarters. He frowns, about to knock when he hears Maz’s voice.

“I know you’re worried about your friend, but she needs to find her way on her own.”

 _“She’s been missing three years!”_ Comes a protest with a burst of static.

Ben inches closer, staring into the room. Kes and Maz stand to one side, a holoprojection across from them. The hologram is a man with the build of a soldier, wearing old fatigues and an irritated expression.

 _FN-2187,_ he thinks with a jolt. He doesn’t know why a serial number drifts into his mind—possibly because of that carburetor Ta’al was complaining about.

Kes is to the side of the room, arms crossed over his chest and his usually kind face closed off and stern. “There’s a difference between missing and having left.”

“ _She wouldn’t leave,”_ the projection says, an edge in his tone. “ _Not without a reason. She’s obviously in trouble.”_

“A trouble we cannot help her face,” Maz chastises. Her goggles are on top of her head, wizened face drawn into a thoughtful expression. “The last of the Jedi has trials ahead of her that we cannot understand.”

“ _We’re not going to get another chance like this._ ” The soldier’s voice shifts from angry to desperate. “ _She’s gone for good if we don’t move, Maz.”_

Maz scoffs, shaking her head. “And what would you have me do? I’m hardly enough to bring a renegade Jedi in.”

Ben watches, as the soldier squares his shoulders and looks into the feed with a heavy air of resignation. “He _might be able to do it.”_

“Out of the question,” Kes snaps.

“ _Leia told me about the bond-“_

“Which is severed. And for good reason,” Maz scolds. “Such things cannot be reforged without a cost.”

 _“So we trade_ his _life_ _for hers? Not in a million years.”_

“It is bigger than one man, as you know.” Maz rubs her temples in windmill motions. “And bigger than one Jedi.”

The soldier glares. _“I think we all know it’s only a matter of time with him.”_ He shakes his head, voice going soft. Ben wonders who this man is, and why a Jedi matters so much to him. “ _This could_ save _her.”_

“We all care about what happens to her,” Maz says in a gentle tone Ben has never heard. “But we can’t rearrange the stars for one person, no matter who it is.”

 _“We did for Luke,”_ the soldier points out bitterly.

Kes is silent, looking at the ground. There’s a tension in the air and Ben watches as the old man makes up his mind about something. “We can’t let what we built be for nothing.”

“ _Kes-“_

“You think I like what I’m doing?” Kes cuts him off, grim. “He tortured my boy. But I was given orders, and I’m going to follow them. Because that’s what we do. That’s what _Han_ would want us to do.”

It’s the first time Ben’s ever heard Kes talk about his family. He leans against the wall, not sure what to do with the information, or the fact that Kes’s son was apparently the victim of a war crime.

“… _Then m_ _aybe I’m not good at following orders.”_

Maz’s head turns up, as if she’s heard something out of key. “That’s enough for now. From now on, you’d do best to discuss any Jedi matters with the General.” Maz leans forward. “Trust in the Force, believe it will bring her to the right path.”

_“What good is a path if you always have to walk it alone?”_

The projector fizzles out. Ben takes a few, quick steps backward, turning around on the third and storming back to the cantina. He thumbs off the datapad.

He’ll get Maz to sign it later.

\--

He’s replayed the conversation in his mind a dozen or so times, but hasn’t been able to get any meaning out of it. It’s not a secret that Maz is a Force user, but she’s not a Jedi. She’s also not military. Ben leans back against the familiar crate outside, looking up at the stars.

Why would a General make routine trips to a criminal hub?  
Why would someone ask Maz to send out a search party for a Jedi?

It’d be different, Ben thinks, if someone was trying to hire a mercenary, bounty hunter, or assassin and was reaching to Maz for a contact. But the conversation wasn't like that. They spoke of the Jedi as if she were a friend. Or something close to it. And what would a Jedi want with a hole in the universe like Takodana? They were supposed to be legendary. Third-rate smugglers and thieves were anything but.

Ben exhales, leaning his head back and sighing out a puff of air. Kes was part of the Rebel Alliance, once. Maybe someone was trying to cash in on the war hero for some dirty work? He’s heard half a dozen stories about Han Solo and his legendary Pathfinders at the cantina, each one more ridiculous than the last. Someone had to be desperate enough to believe them in this galaxy.

His hand goes up to the scar that cuts across his face, the only memento he has of who he used to be. Kes and Maz had both affirmed that the mark was from the same explosion that made him lose his memories. A result from a blown shield generator courtesy of an assault by the First Order. It ruined his career and whatever life he might have had before.

He traces the ridged edge of skin, deep and obviously from a burn mark. Ben supposes he’s old enough to have a family of his own out there. Somewhere. Maybe, like Kes and that soldier in the hologram, there’s someone out there that he can’t go back to. The galaxy’s a big enough place for people to get lost in. The distance between stars is wide enough for the people who matter to fall through.

He used to ask about it all the time. To Kes. And the General. About if he had a family, if he had anyone he should be trying to find. Neither of them had answers for him. When he asked Maz how he came to be in her care, she would only shrug and say he was dropped off by an old, Corellian freighter without explanation.

The red sun starts to rise, the stars fade away.

Ben sighs, moving his fingers from his scar to rebraid the front strands of hair away from his face.

Takodana doesn’t sleep. And it’s time to go through the motions again.

\--

They’re swamped. Ben’s not sure what’s happening out there in the universe beyond his little pocket of it, but trade’s been at an all-time high the last few days. He hasn’t had a chance to talk to Kes or Maz, instead he’s been down in the docks, hangers, and storage units—fixing clunkers, organizing the inventories of smuggled goods. It’s mindless but constant work, and he’s put the eavesdropped conversation out of his mind by the time he finds himself a moment to sit down at the cantina.

He’s never been social, but he manages to make exceptions for Kes. With a grunt, he collapses on the chair next to his at the old man’s usual table, muscles aching and brain numb from the day’s tasks.

“Long day?” Kes asks, eyes crinkling in the corners.

Ben rolls his neck from side to side. “It’s not over.”

“Maz is working you hard.”

“Yeah. Got a carburetor to look at before the _Ermes_ takes off.”

“Tinkering.”

“Pointless tinkering.”

“I’ll get you a beer.”

Kes orders with two raised fingers, the motion a routine by this point. Ben’s too tall for the frame of the table, so hunches over his drink when it arrives. The cold, slightly sour beverage is downed in less than a minute. Kes shakes his head, and orders another. They sit in companionable silence for a few moments, Kes’s eyes trained to the holonet hanging on the wall. The news isn’t interesting compared to earlier this week. No Jedi. No mysterious figures in grey hoods. Just something about tariffs in the Ilium system.

“Talked to Maz today,” Kes starts carefully.

Ben turns to him, brows raising.

“She’s thinking about putting you on a crew.”

Ben snorts, taking another drink. “With which incapable pilot this time?”

Kes shakes his head. “Not like that. A real one. Registered in the books.”

Ben frowns. “You mean-?”

“No more pointless tinkering. You’d be off planet more often than not. Doing longer runs.” Kes is watching him with an intentionally neutral expression.

He leans back in his chair. A crew. An _actual_ crew. No more doing little errands.  No more fixing junkers. He’d get to leave whenever he wanted. Ben doesn’t believe any of this for a second.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Kes’s gaze flickers back to the holonet. “I just gave Maz a thought.”

“And what thought is that?”

“…Maybe it’s time you settled down. Got something started here.”

Ben narrows his eyes.

Kes shrugs. “Maybe meet a girl.”

“A girl.”

The old man’s fingers curl around the dog tags around his neck. A tic that Ben’s noticed over the years.  He’s never caught the name on them, but he has his suspicions. “Nothing wrong with living your life working toward something.”

He clenches his jaw. Looks down at the table. For reasons he can’t explain, anger forms a hard knot in his throat. Ben’s fingers curl into fists.

“So just forget everything before this ever happened.”

Kes sighs. “That’s not what I’m getting at-“

“Thanks for the beer. I’ve got a carburetor to fix.”

Without another word, he stands and stalks off toward the warehouse where Maz stashes the smugglers’ hauls.

\--

He likes the warehouse more than the castle or docks. Mainly because it’s _quiet._ He’s still angry—at Kes, at Maz—but logically he knows he doesn’t have a reason to be. So the emotion just builds on him, his hands practically shaking as he sets up the tools on his workstation. Join a crew. Meet a girl. _Settle._ He throws his hair up into a messy knot and settles a pair of soldering goggles over his eyes.

…he doesn’t know why he’s mad. But he is. Maybe it’s because they’re all right. That he’s going to have to give up the life he doesn’t remember in exchange for whatever _this_ is. Running from the First Order. Smuggling goods to Resistance pockets. Making tiny little ripples when what he wants to do is be a wave. Spending every day doing the same thing, over and over again.

Ben exhales through his nose, looking up at the metal rafters above his head. The warehouse is a newer extension, only a year old, and the lighting system still leaves a lot to be desired. Two bulbs flicker above his head, casting a dim glow on the rows of shipping crates that form walls. He’s taken up a corner for himself, where he’s got an old work bench he bought two years ago and a miscellaneous spread of tools collected over the years. Tinkering projects are a way for him to make some side credits, enough so that he has _some_ income that isn’t counted up by Maz at the end of the week.

Ta’al’s speeder carburetor is waiting for him, and Ben grabs the rest of his gear and plops himself down on the short, rickety stool. The table’s too low for him, knees having to bend at awkward angles to be situated, and he makes a mental note to upgrade after his next run. Whenever that gets to be.

He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and takes out a scouring pad. Still angry, his grip on the part is white-knuckled. After a few rigorous scrapes, his fingers are coated in black grease and his grip slips. The hand holding the scouring pad flings out, knocking over his tools in a metallic sounding crash.

“Kriff,” he spits, bending over to pick up his tools. With a frustrated, jerky motion, he pushes the goggles up to the top of his head, feeling smeared grease on his cheek.

The rest of his movements are on autopilot. He lurches over the workbench, scraping at the carburetor until it starts to look halfway reasonable-

-there’s a set of footsteps echoing on the metal grated floors.

Ben rolls his shoulders, going back to his work. The warehouse is quiet, but not always abandoned. Probably one of the Bothans from the _Zakkeg_ loading the rest of their haul. He starts to break apart the casing-

And the footsteps are louder this time. Enough to make him look up.

By one of the storage crates, there’s a girl.  
Woman.

She’s dressed in dark greys, wearing tight pants that cut off just below the shin and soft boots that reach to about mid-calf.  A sleeveless tunic that hugs her athletic form. Bright hazel eyes and a face dotted with freckles.

He swallows. He hasn’t seen her before. He’d remember seeing her.

No longer angry, but definitely uncomfortable, he tries to get his bearings. He narrows his eyes.

“How’d you get down here?”

She doesn’t say anything. Her pretty, sun-kissed face has an expression of disbelief—wide eyes, partially parted lips. Her gaze doesn’t leave him. Ben’s stomach is tied up in knots and he’s not sure why.

“Hey!” He calls, desperately trying to exude some authority as he sets down the carburetor.

Her stare darts to his. “What is this?” She whispers, like this is an elaborate prank.

Ben sighs. He’s going to have to get up. He unfolds his legs, pushes himself into a stand. “A closed dock, for one.” His mind replays the earlier conversation with Kes in the cantina. The highly unlikely coincidence that an attractive woman shows up for the first time….well, ever, in his work space after it. “Dameron put you up to this, didn’t he?”

She takes a hesitant step forward, a distant quality to her words. “I don’t understand.”

Maybe she’s spiced out. It wouldn’t be the first time at Maz’s place someone on a high had wandered into the wrong room. He moves from around the table, crossing his arms. “What?”

The woman keeps coming forward, not stopping until she’s directly before him. His heart thuds in his chest, and he frowns. Wondering what it is about this straggler that’s making him feel like a kriffing teenager.

She looks up at him, eyes bright. For a moment he sees her differently—tired and dirty. Hair plastered to the skin of her neck by the rain.

He feels a headache blossoming in his temple, but the image that is like a palimpsest does not go away.

“I know you,” he mutters, as the rain-soaked vision fades away. His brows furrow, frustration and confusion spinning around his mind. “How do I know you?”

The woman doesn’t say anything, but her bright eyes well up with tears. He doesn’t flinch when she raises a hand, and her fingers rest on the ridge of his cheek. They are callused, warm. A chill crawls down his spine and he closes his eyes. The woman’s thumb presses down on his skin for a moment, wiping away the grease with a movement that is gentle despite the pragmatic efficiency of it. He feels the pulse in his throat, the way his palms are sweating. He knows, without knowing, that he has waited for this for a long, long time.

“I’m Rey,” she whispers.

_“Don’t leave.”  
“I won’t.”_

He takes in a rattled breath. Parts his lips.

“I’m-“

Her touch disappears. His eyes snap open.

“-Ben,” he finishes, once again finding himself alone.

\--

He can’t sleep that night, ocean or no.

\--

The next morning he asks around. Describes her to the Rodian crew coming in from Coruscant. The Devronians leaving for Nar Shaddaa. The bounty hunter from Iziz. No one’s heard of her, no one’s seen her. Rey is a no one.

It’s not until he runs into Ta’al outside the pazaak den that he gets a lead.

“You know anyone named Rey?” He asks with a darker tone than usual, not even bothering to hide the desperate tone to his inquiry.

The Rodian shakes his head-

But Ben doesn’t want another no. His upper lip curls. “Brown hair. Hazel eyes. Human.”

The Rodian blinks. Large eyes widening as he points to a spot over Ben’s shoulder.

He grinds his teeth in annoyance. “That’s not going to work-“

Ta’al only points again. Ben points his finger at him in warning, but turns his head.

On the holonet, there’s a picture of the woman in the warehouse. It’s close, but not quite the same. She has a new scar over her cheek, her eyes aren’t as bright. Her brown hair is pulled up into a half-ponytail, not three buns. But it’s her. He knows it’s her with a certainty he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

He spends almost a full moment just staring at the image. Looking at the flat, stagnant face he had hallucinated in the warehouse the night before. It’s not until Ta’al whistles that his attention is diverted to the content of the story.

The Rodian mutters something, and Ben is only able to catch one word: _Jedi._

His eyes dart to the crawl on the bottom. Reads the story.

MANAAN FUGITIVE IDENTIFIED-

He doesn’t notice as Ta’al slips away. Instead, his mind only revolves around one thought.

He needs to talk to Maz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -[The Pathfinders](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Pathfinders), Han Solo's ground crew
> 
> -also [reylobase](http://reylobase.tumblr.com) was super awesome and drew the warehouse scene [here](http://reylobase.tumblr.com/post/142986069156/for-stars-dont-come-down-by-nymja-on-ao3)!! THANK YOU :D :D :D


	4. Graal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIPLE UPDATE WEEKEND!! thanks again for all the incredible comments, responses coming shortly!!
> 
>  **Warnings** this chapter for violence, suffocation, and blood!

\--  
**Rey.**  
\--

It’s a three day flight to her next destination. Rey flips the switches of _The Falcon,_ pushing the ship into hyperdrive. The ocean of Manaan fades into the distance with a quick punch, and after a few added coordinates, the ship is on its course and Rey has nothing to pilot.

Wincing, she rolls up the edge of her tank top. Underneath, her abdomen is still raw-looking, a mark that she knows is going to be a nasty scar. She prods gently at the edges, seeing how bad the sting is. How much it’s going to hamper her journey.

The confrontation with Janara had been messy. But necessary. Rey closes her eyes, remembering the battle.

She had cut the Knight of Ren laterally through the waist. Carelessly, she thought that meant a victory. But the Knight of Ren had a power she had never seen before, her cracked and mottled skin knitting expertly together. Janara had taken advantage of her shock to impale her.

But not to kill. The strike had expertly missed any major organs.

Rey cradles her chin in her hand, looking out the viewport. It’s been so long since she’s returned to Known Space, her time in the Unknown Regions helping her hone her own abilities.

Including flow-walking.

Rey bites down on her thumb. She had practiced the ability, even though it repulsed her. Walked more than enough paths to see where her next stop was going to be. Thudro-Shan Ren was the first, a quick battle on his cruiser after he had captured her off the surface of Rakata. The Twi’lek had forced her to fight his Stormtroopers for sport, her reluctance earning her the scar on her cheek. Eventually, it came down to survival or morals, and Rey knew which path she would always choose.

She fought. And after she murdered ten of his guards, Thudro-Shan dueled her himself. Still upset from the slaughter he forced her through, it had been a quick match.

Rey closes her eyes.

She had jumped, spinning her saberstaff in a violent circle aimed at his neck-

…it had been a quick match.

Her fingers drift to the crystal around her neck. Thudro-Shan had been killed in anger, not defense. She wasn’t deluded enough to think otherwise. Rey had seen the bodies of Stormtroopers, and it was like being back on Jagomir—building pyres and taking off helmets.

Naively, she’d vowed not to kill again after it.

The kyber crystal is warm against her skin. Her thumbnail traces the groove of its crack. There’s nothing but silence where he used to be in her mind, the same silence that’s been her companion for the last three years. Because where Rey once had bonds, there’s only loss. Luke. Kylo.

…For a scavenger, she’s tired of breaking things.

Rey looks out the viewport. A beautiful, lush, and green planet comes into sight. She releases her mind to the Force, casting out her perceptions and listening as carefully as she can.

 _Soran Ren._ The name is whispered across her thoughts, a dark promise only she can fulfill.  Her eyes drift to the planet’s surface, where she senses his toxic presence in the Force, and Rey prepares for landing on the outskirts of Theed.

\--  
**Ben.  
** \--

“I want to talk about the Jedi.”

Maz doesn’t still from where she stacks dishes by the bar. The cantina is near cleared out, and she’s taking advantage of the early hour to catch up on housekeeping. “Grab that tray.”

Ben hands it over without thinking, a near-reflexive response. “Who is she, Maz?”

She shrugs her small shoulders. “How would I know?” She passes him a plate. “Dry.” And points a finger up at him. “And no streaks like last time.”

He frowns. Dries. “Tell me the truth.”

“About the Jedi?”

Ben’s impatience becomes a palpable thing. “About Rey!”

Maz’s hands slow from where they are washing. After a moment, they stop completely. With a small dip in her shoulders, she turns, wiping her wet hands on Ben’s pants. “And how do you know that name, Ben Kanata?”

He glares down at her. “Why don’t you tell me.”

She takes off her goggles, breathing on the lenses before she cleans them on the edge of his vest. Her eyes squint, making the lively woman look extraordinarily tired. “Always looking for answers, without ever bothering to provide your own.”

Ben says nothing. His jaw clenches.

Maz gives a little sigh, walking away with a gesture over her shoulder for him to follow. He does, joining her at a nearby table. Maz crawls onto the top of it, sitting in a haunch in front of him. She still has to stare up at him, which she does while replacing her goggles.

“Let’s have a look,” is all she says, and Ben doesn’t have time to withdraw or protest as her small hands frame his face. Her long fingers spread across his cheeks, reaching up to his temples, and her magnified eyes close.

Nothing happens.

Maz gives a little hum, leaning back and dropping her touch. “Just as I thought. You’re not ill. So explain to me why you want to go hunting Jedi, hm?”

“I never said I wanted to go hunting.”

“Then what is it that you want to do, Ben.”

“I want to know about her.”

“And you think I’m the best place to start?”

He trains his stare on her, feeling something poisonous and slow building underneath the surface of his skin.  He makes sure his next words land. “I overheard you yesterday.”

“You expect this to be news?” Maz rolls her eyes. “You think I don’t know when someone’s listening in _my_ castle?”

“I saw her!” He growls, mostly out of frustration. “I saw the girl-“

“Jedi.”

“-in the warehouse!” He feels his eyebrows furrow. “I…I knew her.”

Maz watches him contemplatively. “Saw her.”

“I know how it sounds,” he bites out. “But it’s the truth.”

“You want me to tell you that I know the girl,” Maz states over steepled fingers. “That, for some reason, I know how all these pieces fit together. Your scar. The Jedi. Is that it?”

He considers his next words carefully. “I think you’re hiding something from me.”

“I hide things from many people, that’s the nature of the business.” Maz returns to her chair. “But if you want an answer to the girl, and your past, you won’t find one here.”

“Because you won’t tell me,” he accuses.

“Because it is not for me to say. Or understand.”

“It sounded like you've met her.”

“Maz Kanata has met many. And soon everyone in the universe will be owing favors they can’t repay.” She shakes her head. “ _That,_ is also the nature of the business.”

“…why won’t you go after her. The soldier wanted you to.”

“Three years under my care, and you think I’d answer to soldiers-ha!” Maz hops off the chair. “Impatient, grumpy, and a poor mechanic are all things that you are, Ben, but a fool is not one of them.”

“The Jedi is from _before,_ isn’t she?” He _knows_ it with an absolute certainty. A weight in his gut. “She knew me, too.”

“In your hallucination?”

“You just said I’m not a fool.”

Maz’s lips purse. After a beat, she starts her signature power-walk down the hall of the castle. “Come on, then.”

“Where are you going.”

“You want the answers? Come collect them!”

\--

He follows her to the filthiest computer room he’s ever seen. Dust not only lines, but is caked, into the ridges of the stone walls. Cobwebs collect in all corners. In the center is a _pile,_ because a catalogue would be a misnomer with the mess, of insertable datapads, dumped unceremoniously by a console that looks positively ancient.

Maz dives right in, tossing files with a recklessness that makes his fingers twitch. Finally, she settles on one that was near the top to begin with, blowing away dust and jamming it into the console.

“What are you doing.”

“Letting you know about Ben,” is all she says unceremoniously, turning and grabbing his sleeve. With an insistent _tug,_ she guides him to the console. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to show you the file, but you have the worst timing. Take a look, and when you’re done, be sure to finish stacking the dishes.”

She reaches up, pats his cheek, and strolls out.

Ben watches her leave with nothing short of frustration, certain she’s evaded his answers. But his attention moves back to the console, its cracked screen flickering blue. He casts a glance to the doorway Maz has retreated through, then back to the console. Steeling himself, he takes a step forward.

PLAY MESSAGE? _ YES _ NO

He frowns.

PLAY MESSAGE? X YES _ NO

The screen flickers. His heart stops when he sees the Jedi looking back at him. The scar isn’t on her cheek, and her hair is in the three buns. Ben looks down at the time stamp, and sees that this was recorded a little over three years ago.

_“My name is Rey. I am…”  Her eyes are red-rimmed. “The last Jedi. This message is for the Resistance, wherever they might be.”_

He watches her, unable to look away. The Jedi turns from the feed, bites down on her lip.

_“I was serving with Blue Squadron on the Resistance base A-47, located in the outskirts of the Ilium system. The First Order ran a heavy ground and air assault. Luke Skywalker-“ Her breath hitches, but she presses forward. “-Luke Skywalker engaged Kylo Ren in battle.” Rey squeezes her eyes shut, face contorting in pain. “Both were killed.”_

The message skips.

_“I am leaving you with one of the survivors I managed to find during the evacuation. He’s sustained massive head trauma, and has remained unconscious for the entire journey.” Her voice is level now, flat. It’s clear this part has been rehearsed. “He’s a mechanic who was injured in a shield generator explosion. I’ve attached what I could find from his personnel file. If he…” Her voice breaks, just a little. “If he has family, please do your best to locate them. Thank you.”_

The feed ends.

Ben stares at the frozen frame of her, of Rey. He notices for the first time that there’s a crystal around her neck, cracked and red. Numbly, he presses a button on the console.

OPEN ATTACHMENT? _ YES _ NO

He exhales.

OPEN ATTACHMENT? X YES _ NO

Ben’s eyes scan the file. It’s…his military records. From his time in Republic service. They pre-date the Resistance, but they have his rank, enlistment date, home planet (Corellia), date of birth (he’s thirty-four), and name (Ben, just Ben). There is no next of kin, no photograph.

With a shaking hand, Ben presses another button.

_“My name is Rey. I am…the last Jedi.”_

He leans forward, bracing his weight on the hands that rest on either side of the screen.

_“This message is for the Resistance, wherever they might be.”_

Ben swallows, listening to the full message. Then looping it. Again. And again. Until her words are burned into his mind.

He knows the Jedi, because she saved his life.

\--

That morning, he gets up and finishes the dishes.

“Did you find the answers you wanted?” Maz asks carefully.

He frowns.

Maz nods. “Give it time, and we’ll talk.”

Before he can get a word in, she hands him a dirty tankard.

Ben clears his throat. “Were you able to find anyone?”

She looks at him with sympathetic eyes. “…There’s a reason I let you go by Ben Kanata.”

He nods, hands absently going back to washing.

\--

Two days later, things start to fall back into their routines. He repairs junkers. Goes on a brief smuggling haul. Meets up with Kes for cards. But every time his mind takes a rest, it finds its way back to the woman in the recording. Her red-rimmed eyes and cracked crystal.

“Did you know the Jedi?” He asks, as Kes takes credits off his chip.

The older man takes his time in answering. “…I knew Luke.”

“Were they close.”

“Yeah.” Kes stops any further questions by handing the deck over to Ben. “Your deal.”

\--

Ben sits on his usual crate, looking at the stars in his usual way. But this time, he has different thoughts on his mind.

Maybe no one’s coming back for him. But maybe someone out there needs his help.

\--

Two days after that, he makes a decision.

\--

Maz would kill him if she knew, but Ben’s made an effort to avoid her. The halls are dark as he makes his way back to the room where Kes, Maz, and the soldier had their conversation. It only takes a push for him to open the door and slip inside. The room itself is empty save for a single comm, and Ben walks up to it with purpose.

After cross-referencing the hails with time stamps, he thinks he finds the right signal. Ben types the numbers in the channel with intent, eyes narrowing as the call goes out.

It’s answered within minutes, and Ben watches as the soldier flickers into view.

The first thing to register on the hologram’s face is shock, then anger. The soldier’s eyes land on his scar and stay there.

_“How did you get this number?”_

Ben straightens his back. “You’re looking for the Jedi.”

 _“What do you know about Rey?!”_ He demands.

“Nothing,” Ben admits, his voice heavy. “But I want to help you find her.”

The soldier stares at him, anger melting into suspicion, then confusion.

 _“Who are you?”_ He asks, the question sounding like it’s balanced on a precipice.

“Ben,” he says flatly, knowing that much is true. “I’m ex-Resistance. You?”

The soldier takes his time in answering. Skepticism and a desperate strand of hope warring on his features.

 _“…The name’s Finn. And if it’s going to help Rey, I’ll hear you out._ ”

\--

Finn agrees to meet him on Takodana in two days.

A day after Ben sends the message, everything goes to hell.

\--

Ben’s last night on Takodana starts out normal enough. He’s out on the docks, running some last minute maintenance checks on one of the skiffs. The top of his hair is braided back from his face, his hands and arms are coated in grease, and he can’t stop the strange anticipation that’s been growing in the center of his chest since he’s placed the call to Finn.

It’s an impulse. But for the first time in three years, Ben feels like he’s moving _toward_ something. His mind is only half on the task as he attempts to strip an ion engine, and it’s what saves his life.

Ben drops the multi-tool, swearing as he bends down to pick it up. An instant later, a blaster shot pierces the skiff where his head was.

“Kriff-!” He swears, landing on his back and crawling away from the engine. Another shot fires, and Ben’s eyes dart to the dock crowd, where people are starting to panic and run.

Standing in the middle of the chaos, a solitary figure in black robes steps forward, a blaster rifle slung over his shoulder. He’s a human, middle-aged with a shaved head. And his yellow eyes are trained right on Ben.

“Thought you could hide forever?” He barks, lifting the gun and aiming again.

Ben sprints, ducking behind a crate just as another shot pierces the skiff. Metal flies off. He looks around desperately for something to use as a weapon against this strange man-

“Call off your Jedi _schutta._ ” The man in black stalks toward him. “We know about the bond!”

-Ben wraps his hand on a wrench. Just in time for the man to walk around and grab him by the collar.

“We know that if we-“ he rears back his fist, and Ben barely has a moment to cringe before it slams into his face. Pain blossoms in angry red behind his eyes as he hears his nose break. “-get rid of _you,_ we get rid of-“ another punch, this one just under Ben's ribs, “- _her_!”

Ben doesn’t process what the strange man is yelling at him. He only _reacts._ With a quick jerk, he brings the wrench up and slams it across the man’s lower jaw-

The man’s grip falls from his collar as several of his teeth go flying in a spray of blood. Ben pivots his weight on his back leg and knees him in the gut. The man sinks to his knees, and Ben rears back the wrench to take another hit.

But his throat closes. Ben staggers, the collar of his shirt suddenly too tight, as though clenched by invisible fingers. Panicked and confused, he brings his fingers to his neck and tries to pry whatever it is away.

The man laughs, jaw clearly broken and face covered in blood. Ben’s strains his gaze to see that the man’s hand is outstretched toward him, an odd and magnetic pull drawing the air from his lungs.

“That’s right,” the man’s voice is gleeful, manic. “Aalto let us know about your little _condition,_ too.” He pushes himself up. Ben’s grip on the wrench goes lax and it drops to the ground as spots creep into his vision. The man looms over him, bearing broken teeth. “Do you even remember my name, you indulged shit?”

Ben tries to move, tries to tear away whatever it is that’s choking him. Numbly, he’s aware that his body is being lifted up by an invisible force, the toes of his boots scraping the ground.

“Graal,” the man spits, jerking his hand and bringing Ben’s body closer. “Graal _Ren._ Now _die._ ”

His feet kick out idly, thumbs tearing into the fabric of his shirt. But Ben can’t breathe. He can’t move. He can’t do anything in this man’s hold. Darkness crowds into his vision, anger spiking and roiling within him at the sheer _vulnerability_ of the situation.

 ** _Help me!_** He screams out into the nothing.

There’s silence. It stretches for ages, for years, for miles. But just as Ben’s heart starts to crawl to a stop he feels static collect on the back of his neck, travel down his arms, and rest in his palms. It grows, hot and electric, and he knows if he just lifted his hand-

There’s the sound of blaster. Graal’s eyes widen, then his arm falls to the ground. Ben collapses with it, hacking and coughing as air floods into his lungs. He rolls on his back, sputtering again as his breath returns with stabbing pains. He blinks back the tears in his eyes, seeing that Graal is lying on the ground next to him, his gaze sightless and his chest hosting a perfectly round burn hole.

Ben looks past the corpse, to where Maz Kanata stands. She blows on the end of her blaster.

“No one shoots holes in my ships!”

He falls back to the ground, taking greedy gulps of oxygen. After a moment, he flexes his hand and feels the stiff pain of a burn, as though he held a live wire in his hand.

And softly, barely above a whisper, a voice crosses his mind.

_I’ve missed you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -[Rakata Prime](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Rakata_Prime) aka Lehon  
> -[Theed](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Theed)  
> -[Corellia](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Corellia)


	5. The Happabore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no control over my life anymore. last set-up chapter! as always, thank you so much for the AMAZING comments-- they keep me going at this absurd pace ;) i'll be answering the rest shortly!!!

\--  
**Rey.**  
\--  
  
She’s trying not to fall in love with Theed. Dusk is settling in, the sky bathed in pretty purples and oranges. Below where she sits, she hears the currents of the Solleu River, running steady underneath the sounds of merchants packing up their stands and politicians disembarking from the Senate house.

Rey rests her forearm on her bended knee and gazes out at the skyline, the endless rows of green-shingled buildings sculpted from sandstone. Perched on a high window, she can even make out the waterfalls in the distance, stacked on top one another like stairs. Her other hand holds a stick of Nerf jerky that she absently gnaws on.

She could stay here forever.

It’s just a stolen moment, but Rey has always been fine with taking what she can get. She closes her eyes, shifting her body so that her back rests against the sandstone frame behind her. Wriggling her shoulders, she gets comfortable, jerky dropping to the side and her head falling back.

Her mind drifts.

First, she thinks about the ones who are easier to think about. Finn. Leia and Chewbacca, Poe and BB-8. The ones that are safe, she hopes. Rey wonders if Finn is a soldier again, if he’s back to leading ground assaults and covert ops. If Leia is tired, and needs someone to bring her a hot cocoa. Whether or not Poe finally got BB-8’s malfunctioning plasma torch to work.

Next is Luke.

Rey presses her eyes tighter, as she thinks about the last night. The final conversation. About all the grains of sand from Moraband’s surface, jamming in the fine gears of his exposed mechanical hand. His sad smile, his last piece of advice:

_Not loving anything is a luxury._

She opens her eyes, looks back out at the skyline. Rey doesn’t know why somewhere as distant and new as Naboo reminds her almost painfully of her mentor, but it does. This city feels completely _right_ for him—like an almost.

Almosts.

Thinking of Luke almost always leads to thinking about Kylo. A merging of memories that part of her hates. It’s become impossible for her to grieve for one without the other, a betrayal that only makes her even angrier at herself. For not saving Luke. For…

For leaving.

Rey wonders, not for the first time, but for the first time in a while, about the man on Takodana. She imagines who he might be, now that he had an opportunity to figure it out. Maybe he’s a pilot. Or a soldier. Maybe he deals at the pazaak tables or races in the swoop competitions.

Maybe he’s not alone. Maybe Maz took him under her wing. Maybe Leia found him.

Rey kicks back the heel of her boot against the wall. His paths are the ones she hasn’t tried to walk. Not since theirs diverged.

It should be a relief. When she had the bond, all she wanted was for it to be gone. Severed. But now they’re both gone. And she’s alone with only a broken crystal for company.

_That’s your nature, isn’t it? Taking things that don’t belong to you._

Rey pulls at the cord around her neck. The crystal dangles in front of her and glows in the sun.

 _Taking away_ parts. _And leaving without a look back._

She tries remember his face, but knows the image in her mind is off. The nose is too long or too short. She’s miscounting the moles on his face or picturing his hair a shade darker or lighter than what it is. Some nights, she’s done the best she can to forget it entirely. But he’s still there, has always been there, in her memories if not anywhere else.

Her brows draw together as she watches the light fade from the crystal as the sun sets.

“I’ve missed you,” she confesses to the rock, only because it can’t hear her.

\--  
**Ben.  
** \--

The profile of Graal’s corpse is still fixed in a shocked expression, the skin taking on a greying hue. Ben sits to the side of the slab in Maz’s med center, hands folded in front of his mouth and elbows resting on his knees. His face is still raw and puffy from the break of his nose, and that morning he had woken up to a set of twin black eyes in the mirror. Ben, and everyone else, had tried to go back to the routine, but half an hour into his shift at the dock and he had found himself here.

Staring at the stranger who wanted to kill him. Graal Ren.

Ben frowns, the motion causing a little flare of pain on his tender features. He takes in the man’s square, jutting chin. The wide nose, crooked in several places. The scar through his eyebrow. He has no idea who he is, even though the person obviously held a personal grudge against him.

His brows furrow as he tries to recall the man’s words.

He’d mentioned the Jedi. _His_ Jedi. Ben’s mind drifts to the hallucination in the warehouse. The Jedi’s bright eyes. Her thumb on his cheek.

His pulse quickens. His mouth feels dry.

Graal had mentioned something about a bond. The word runs through his mind uninvited, circling over and over. And Ben considers the possibilities of the dead man’s statement before he can stop himself. Once again, the image of her flashes in his mind—quick and almost painful.

Freckles. Dark brown hair. Hazel eyes. Scar on her cheek.

Ben’s eyes slowly focus back on Graal. He’d wanted to kill her.

Ben’s jaw clenches. His eyes fixate on the blaster hole through the man’s chest. The skin of his palm tingles, remember the feeling of the wrench in his hand. The strange, angry energy that crested as he felt the air leave his lungs.

“Not the best place to spend your morning,” comes the slightly graveled voice of Kes.

With reluctance, Ben shifts his gaze to the winding, stone steps above the room. Kes stands in the doorway, his peppered hair in odd tufts and his clothes a pair of sleeping pants and a tank top. The dog tags glint in the light he lets in.

“C’mon kid,” Kes says with a yawn. “Have a cup of caf before you stew over someone attempting to murder you.”

Ben’s gaze flickers from the corpse to Kes. The old man meets his stare levelly.

“Maybe some ice too,” he suggests. “With all the…” He makes a hovering motion over his face.

He sends Graal one more look, absorbing the face into memory. Then he stretches out his legs and arms, and stands.

“Caf first,” is all he grunts as he shoulders past the older man.

\--

Kes doesn’t join him. But Ben’s halfway through his second cup when he hears an annoyed clearing of the throat.

Silently mouthing “stang” to himself, Ben pivots in his seat. Maz stands before him, hands on her hips and small toe tapping against the ground.

“Maz,” he mutters.

She immediately starts to count off on her fingers. “Coolant hasn’t been replaced on the _Djo,_ the _Tesar’s_ crew has been waiting to get their accounts settled for an hour, and I have six couplings needing to be patched.”

Ben just stares at her. Irritation making his lips purse. “I was almost murdered yesterday.”

Maz’s eyes go round behind her goggles, and she makes an incredulous motion with her arms. As if to say _but you weren’t!_ “You think the ships stop moving over a little thing like a failed murder? Think again, boy!”

“Someone was still murdered,” he corrects under his breath.

She scampers, moving to sit across from him. She braces both hands on the table, head tilting to the side in evaluation.

“Your nose is horrible.”

He scowls.

“Get some more ice on it.” She taps a finger against her lip. “There's something else we need to discuss."

"What."

"I saw the strangest of calls on the comms this morning.”

Ben wants to know what sort of world Maz lives in, that she’s more disturbed by a call than by shooting a man through the chest. He waits for her to go on, because she usually does.

Maz brings her fingers to her goggles, moving a latch on the side that brings down a new lens. Her eyes blink in fluttery movements as her sight adjusts to the stronger prescription. “A young Resistance soldier says he’s on his way to pick someone up. Know anything about it?”

Ben slowly sips his caf.

Maz’s gaze goes distant. “Think you’re going after the Jedi, then? It won’t be an easy journey.”

His fingers tighten on the handle of his mug.

Her pupils dilate. Maz makes a waving motion with her hand and Ben wordlessly offers her the one not holding onto his drink. Her long fingers wrap around his, holding his hand between both her palms. She squeezes. Perplexed by this unusual show of affection, Ben matches her stare across the table, feeling a small “v” form between his brows.

“You,” Maz says in a gentle, kind voice. “Are fired.”

He coughs on his drink. “What?”

She pat, pats his hand. “I’ve no use for someone who hacks my personal comm line. Or someone who gets squeamish over something as silly as a failed assassination attempt.”

His throat feels tight. “Maz-“

“Ah ahah.” She withdraws her grip, waving a finger at him. “Never were that good of a mechanic, either.”

“You can’t-“

She stands, hooking her thumbs in the small suspenders of her trousers. “You’ve got an hour, I imagine, before your…friend arrives. Might be a good idea to get packing.”

He stands, the chair making a scraping sound before it topples over. “You can’t fire me!”

“Sure I can,” she begins to walk away, raising her hand in the air. Laughter sneaks into her parting words. “I never hired you in the first place!”

He watches, not sure what else to do but sit down and finish his caf.

“…fired,” he repeats in disbelief.

\--

There’s not much to pack. His tools. The goggles Maz had given him. The jacket from Kes. The old blaster he’d bought after his first successful smuggling run. Leaving a place after three years takes about three minutes.

Ben looks around his empty room one last time, knowing he’s not going to miss it.

\--

He’s sitting on his usual crate, watching the engine lights, when he hears the footsteps of Kes’s gait. Ben tilts his head back in a slow motion, surprised to see that the old man has a standard military duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Even more surprised to see the frustrated expression on his face.

“What are you doing?”

Kes tosses his duffle to the ground, and there’s an edge to his voice that Ben doesn’t typically hear. “…Got fired.”

Ben shifts, giving him his full attention. “By Maz?”

Kes grunts.

“You don’t work for her.”

“I’m aware.”

Irritation floods him. “If this is some game the two of you are playing-“

“No game,” Kes cuts him off, reaching into his jacket to withdraw a well-worn pack of pazaak cards. His knobby, slightly arthritic fingers begin to shuffle them in a slow movement. He exhales. “Just coming for the ride. Maz insisted.”

“To find the Jedi?”

Kes’s jaw works, clearly unhappy about something. Ben recalls the conversation from a few days ago, when Kes had protested the soldier's proposed rescue operation. “Yeah.”

After a moment, Ben nods. The two sit in silence for about ten minutes, before his mind drifts back to the body on the slab.

“What about Graal?”

“Maz said she’d look into it.”

“…and the body?”

Kes raises an eyebrow. “Probably cremate it.”

Ben pictures the man’s face. The hole in his chest. The gaps where teeth used to be in his mouth. _Call off your Jedi_ schutta.

“Good.” And Ben misses the concerned look Kes sends his way at the statement.

\--

He watches the sky. After another hour, his gaze is drawn to a descending ship. It’s a civilian shuttle, which isn’t what he’s expecting. It looks like an extended version of a Star Commuter 2000, its wide body painted seafoam green in thick stripes across the hull, starboard, and port. A series of black scorings across its side indicates that despite being a glorified _bus,_ the clunker’s seen a firefight or two.

“Damn,” Kes offers.

Ben folds his arms across his chest. “It’s a can.”

“More like a brick.”

The Star Commuter finishes its landing, gears extended and bracing the tanker as it wobbles from side to side. There’s the hiss of steam as it finishes depressurizing, a panel sliding down to reveal a door. After a moment, a gangway extends.

Ben watches as the soldier exits.

He’s taller in person. Wearing a civilian flight suit, his back is straight and his eyes intelligently scan the crowd. When they rest on Ben and Kes, his body tenses—hovering between walking forward and turning around. Finally, courage seems to win out, as he jogs across the tarmac.

“Kes!” He shouts.

“Hey kid-“

The old man doesn’t get to finish as the soldier (Finn, he remembers. It’s _Finn_ ) throws his arms around him and _lifts_ Kes into a hug.

“It’s good to see you, man!” Finn beams, withdrawing only to hug him one more time.

“You too,” Kes concedes, the frustration he’s been carrying around all day finally fading.

With one last pat to Kes’s shoulder, Finn turns to Ben. He can’t read the soldier’s expression, but there’s a sudden heaviness in the air as the other man takes him in, his eyes resting far too long on the scar across his face. For some reason, it angers him to see _this_ man looking at it, even though it’s common enough for people to stare.

“You must be Ben,” he finally says, the statement formal and stiff.

Ben nods, holding out his hand.

Finn looks at it for a moment. Swallows. “…I’m going to go square up with Maz. Load your things into _The Happabore_ and we’re off.” He turns from Ben, whose knuckles crack when he withdraws his hand into a fist by his side. “Kes, you’ll fly?”

The old man looks at the clunker warily. But dips his chin.

Finn looks between Kes, then Ben, and settles his gaze on a spot in between them. “I want to get to Manaan as soon as possible. We’ll talk on the way.” Without looking at Ben, his voice drops. “Thank you.”

Finn goes straight toward Maz’s castle. Ben, not knowing what else to do, turns to Kes.

“I didn’t know you were a pilot.”

Something soft crosses the old man’s gaze. His free hand drifts to his dog tags. “I wasn’t,” is all he offers, before he heads into the bucket of bolts.

Ben sends a glance back to the retreating figure of Finn. Something about the man not settling correctly. With a final, thoughtful frown, Ben reholsters his duffle bag, and follows Kes into the shuttle.

\--

 _The Happabore_ ’s a piece of shit.

Ben walks in, seeing the patch of metal on the floor that’s lighter than all the others—where seats were clearly ripped out to make room for the extended cab. Patched seats line the sides of the entrance, enough to fit seven or so comfortably. Ben’s lip twitches, as he walks down the narrow hall to a back room divided by a curtain.

There’s. Bunk beds. He can tell just by looking at them that his legs will extend over the frame. With a flare of annoyance, he drops his duffle on one of the bottom ones-

- _he lays down on the floor of the shuttle. Folding his hands over his stomach. It’s enough to be close, for now, her light breaths landing on the exposed skin of his neck-_

Ben presses the heel of his hand against his forehead. One of his hands bracing his body against the upper bunk as what feels like a migraine rolls through him. Taking a breath, he counts to ten and tries to banish the throbbing behind his eyes from his attention.

It works, a little. He goes toward the cockpit, where Kes is already acquainting himself with the controls.

“This thing’s a piece of shit,” the old man says unceremoniously, not looking away from flashing lights in front of him.

Ben scoffs in agreement, leaning against the entrance. He has to crane his neck a little to fit in the narrowed walkway. “Manaan’s a short trip.”

Kes makes a small _hmph._ “There’s bunk beds.”

“Best I could do on short notice.”

Both Ben and Kes turn to the newcomer. Finn gives a stiff, if polite, smile, dropping a bag underneath the benched seats that line the entrance to the shuttle. “Wanted something discrete.”

“It’s a van,” Kes counters, though there’s a spark of humor in his eyes.

“I won’t argue that.” Finn crosses his arms. “It’s ready for take-off. But there’s a few things we got to cover first.”

Ben immediately doesn’t like the man’s tone. But he takes the short step into the main sitting area, if only to avoid a crick in his neck. “Such as.”

“Rey is my friend,” he starts softly. “I…appreciate your help, but for this run, I’m in charge.”

Logically, it makes sense. But Ben still bristles at the blatant disregard for consensus. Kes doesn’t seem to be bothered by it.

“What’s the plan?” He asks.

Finn clears his throat, and Ben hears the sound of command in his next words. “It’s a recon mission, nothing more. I don’t know what Rey’s been running from, but I do know it has to be bad. We’ll head to Manaan—I’ve made reservations for us under false names at a lodge in Ahto City. From there, we’ll trace what we know of her steps.” His voice goes soft, almost heartbroken. “Hopefully we’ll get a lead.”

“If we don’t?” Asks Kes, and both Ben and Finn glare at him.

“We keep looking,” Finn states firmly.

Ben watches the soldier carefully, his mind replaying Graal’s words. _Your Jedi._ “…how do you know her?”

The expression Finn shoots him is almost hostile. And instead of making Ben want to back off, anger rises in him.

“My best friend,” he answers tightly. “Let’s get going.”

Ben frowns, but takes a seat. His fingers attach the safety webbing automatically, and after a few moments he hears Kes start warming up the engines. He trains his eyes to the viewport across from him, partially so he can ignore Finn and partially so he can watch Takodana. It doesn’t mean much to him, in the long run, but he can feel something shutting closed as _The Happabore_ begins to rock.

What he’s doing doesn’t make sense. Leaving behind the work he’s managed to build upon over the years to chase down a phantom. But he doesn’t regret his decision. There’s something _certain_ about this, he feels it.

 _The Happabore_ lifts.

Ben watches the castle. Sees a small, orange figure standing in front of it. Still—for once.

They ascend.

The castle grows smaller, framed instead by the green forests that surround it. Soon it’s swallowed by them. Then the oceans. Then the clouds.

“Are you going to miss it?”

Finn’s guarded question throws him, and Ben reluctantly tilts his head.

“What.”

“Takodana. Maz.” Finn’s voice is level. Determined. “Are you going to miss it?”

Ben hears the engines beginning to rattle—an indication in old shuttles like this that the hyperdrive is winding. He eyes the glowing, green and blue surface of the planet below him. His…home for the last three years.

“No.” There is no doubt in the word.

Finn presses his lips together and doesn’t say anything else.

The ship lurches forward. Ben closes his eyes. And throws a promise out into the void.

_Soon._

He doesn’t know if he imagines what happens next, or if it’s a product of the ship jumping into hyperspeed. But for an instant, he feels it—the lightest brush of fingers against his palm, warm and real and invisible.

Ben flexes his hand, and _The Happabore_ darts away from the surface of Takodana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Happabore_ :


	6. Han

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back! think of this chapter as a part one of two, with part two HOPEFULLY coming tomorrow sometime :B
> 
> also [reylobase](http://reylobase.tumblr.com) was super awesome and drew the warehouse scene from chapter 12 of TDoKR and chapter 3 of this fic [here](http://reylobase.tumblr.com/post/142986069156/for-stars-dont-come-down-by-nymja-on-ao3)!! THANK YOU :D :D :D

\--  
**Rey.  
** \--

Rey shovels in another mouthful of popcorn as she walks the streets of Theed. Not for the first time, she’s thankful for Naboo fashion, as she’s far from the only person sporting a hooded cloak that obscures her face. If anyone pauses in their step, or does a double-take, all it takes from Rey is a slight nudge with the Force to turn their attention elsewhere.

_The beard always throws them._

The smile that crosses Rey’s lips is bittersweet as the memory of Luke in the Nar Shaddaa market crosses her mind. They never did get to go back there together.

She digs out another handful of the greasy food, chewing contemplatively as she keeps her eyes trained on her target.

At the end of the paved road, the grand dome of Theed University rises up like a green-tiled sun. She walks toward it, mindful to keep herself behind other pedestrians. She knows there’s always something about her that makes her seem off—the scar on her cheek, the holsters under the frayed ridges of her well-worn cloak. In the palace district of Theed, surrounded by the upper echelons of Naboo’s society, she looks near vagabond. But the Force and years of being nobody are on her side, since the man she’s been tailing has yet to turn around.

She falls to the back of a crowd of college students, blending as best as she can in between two women who look close enough to her age—she overhears them talking about qualifying exams. An amused grin worms its way to Rey’s face between the chomps of popcorn. Her own tests had been a little different. One of the students shoot her a confused look, but Rey only raises her brows.

_We’re walking to class together._

And the student turns back to talking to her friend.

Rey looks past them to her target.

The Zabrak towers over the older woman he is walking with, the bright orange of his skin, the white patterns tattooed upon it, and the horns sprouting from the top of his head making it easy to distinguish him from the crowd of students and academics. He’s large, the definition of his arm muscles clear under the form-fitting tunic. Every movement he makes seems restrained, controlled.

Soran Ren.

Rey slowly chews another handful of popcorn.

She watches him, cautious observer. He’s in an animated discussion with the woman, his hands holding a large datapad that appears to have schematics of some sort. An argument, based on the way the woman is narrowing her eyes and beginning to look defensive.

Rey closes her eyes. Untethers her senses.

Soran’s pain echoes in the songs of the Force, a handful of notes that resonate wrong. The pain and conflict is not as strong as it was with Janara or Aalto, but it’s something that’s been tempered to an edge. Rey frowns around a kernel stuck in her teeth—he’s not as strong in the Force as the others, but there’s something about him that sets off a signal for her to be wary.

Soran’s head snaps away from the woman.

His white-violet eyes meet hers from across the pavilion.

Rey doesn’t tense or freeze. She meets his stare calmly.

Soran’s brow wrinkles. His lips begin to tug into a snarl.

Rey lets him look. Lets him remember her face, lets him know she’s here.

When the Zabrak goes to take a step toward her, she moves back into the crowd and lets it hide her away.  


\--  
**Ben.**  
\--  


Takodana to Manaan is a four hour bus ride. Four. Hours.  
This is the third time he’s heard the emergency sirens blasting in his ears.

“What now?” He growls around the multitool in his mouth. He hooks the toes of his feet under a run on the ladder in order to stretch out his body to the side. The injectors are flooding. Again. And the oxidizer needs to be scrubbed. _Again._

Four. Hours. _Four._

“Pressurizer is starting to-“

Ben doesn’t even listen to the rest of Finn’s explanation. Instead he looks up. “YOUR BUS IS A PIECE OF-!”

Another alert signals off, this time right by his ear.

“Don’t you start on the bus!” Finn shouts back.

Ben slams his fist against the injectors. They sputter, then start moving. Once that alert goes green, he slides down the rest of the ladder until his feet hit the ground. Once there, he grabs the multitool from his mouth and starts to undo the casing for the oxidizer-

-only to discover that he has no idea how to fix it.

The inside of the panel has a flowchart with a lot of arrows that don’t make any sense. The inside of the oxidizer has an open flame—that can’t be right—and several systems of tubing and wiring that make zero sense to him.

The alarm blares again. Ben narrows his eyes at the flowchart. So far all he can determine is Fire Bad, Oxygen Good. The damn instructions are in _Rodanian._

“You got that?” Finn asks, and Ben looks up to see the soldier’s head pop into view above him.

“What do you think?” He has no idea.

Finn sends him an unsure look. “Can you wrap it up or not? We’re starting to use reserves-“

“I would hate for something like the lack of oxygen to become an _inconvenience_.” Ben takes a guess and rips out a wire. The alarm stops. He relaxes. The alarm _shrieks,_ louder than before and now accompanied by strobe lights. He swears, tears out another wire-

The sprinklers go off.

“I can’t believe you came in this thing,” Ben mutters as he struggles to reconnect the wires. “Braver than I thought.”

“Nice,” says Finn in a clipped tone. Ben doesn’t look away from his task, but he hears him slide down the ladder and sneers.  “Come on.” Finn holds up a light over his shoulder. Water from the sprinklers is starting to puddle around his ankles. “Show me what to do.”

“Stay back, for one.” Ben sparks two wires. “This might explode.”

Finn keeps the light steady, but there is a nearly audible sigh.

He does his best to ignore the soldier, instead trying to figure out the flowchart. Already, he can hear ringing in his ears that’s not from the alarms, a sign of depleted air. He bites down on his lower lip, looking at this diagrams and wires and tubes and it means nothing to him-

_He’s pressing his hands over his ears as the sound blares._

_“Dad!” He scolds, as the lights flare around him and the ship begins to shake._

_A man with brown hair looks up from where he’s crouched in front of a panel. “Two seconds, kid.”_

_“Until what?”_

_“Dad either fixes the oxidizer. Or we get blown up.”_

_His eyes widen. The man winks._

_“It won’t be blown up. Positive.” He raises a grease-coated hand, waving him over. With slow steps, he moves until he’s directly behind the man, eyes taking in a series of tubes and wires._

_“Alright, we’re gonna fix it together. Sound good to you?”_

_He nods. The man smiles wide down at him._

_“You bet it does. Because you’re gonna be a pilot, just like your old man. And a good pilot keeps his ship in the air. Gimme your hands.”_

_A set of small, child-sized hands rest underneath a bigger set._

_“Follow me.” The man starts to sing. “Green wire’s connected to the….blue wire! Blue wire’s connected to the~“_

“Red wire,” Ben whispers to himself. He moves a hand, plugging the red wire into an aux port. The sprinklers shut off.

_“There you go. Knew you were smart like your old man. Alright. Red wire’s connected to the~?”_

“Yellow wire.” Ben snips off a section and the strobe light flickers off.

_The man looks down at him. “Okay, two more. Yellow wire goes to the?”_

“Green.” He connects. The alarm falters out mid screech.

_“And the blue wire goes back to the~?”_

“Yellow.”

He strips the tubing, repositions it. The oxidizer stabilizes. Ben swallows.

_“I did it!” He cries, tugging on the white sleeve of the man’s shirt. “I did it, dad!”_

_“Course you did.” The man ruffles his hair. “Proud of you, Ben.”_

Finn moves to the side, as if to check his work. Ben sees his gaze flicker to him.

“How’d you do that?” Finn asks.

Ben frowns, for a moment seeing the large hands hovering over his own. The sound of the song ringing in his ears. And the realization hits him. “…my dad taught me.”

There’s a tension in the air that he doesn’t understand, before the dull echoes of Finn’s boots ascending up the repair ladder.

Ben stares at the panel, and closes it shut with a slam.

\--

Maybe the man with the brown hair and lopsided grin is still out there, somewhere.  
  
Ben glares at the mattress of the bunk bed above him, his legs so far over the frame of his own that the flats of his feet rest comfortably on the floor.

Answers start by finding the Jedi. That much he knows.

There’s a knock. He cranes his head back further to see an upside-down Kes.

“’Bout to start the landing.” He pauses, considering. “Better put on an evac mask.”

“You’re clearly confident in your piloting.”

Kes scratches the grey stubble on his cheek. “More like unconfident in this thing’s ability to not explode.”

“Fair.”  
  
“Fifteen minutes,” Kes warns, before retreating out of vision.

Ben compartmentalizes any thoughts about the man, or his song, and sits up. He hits his head on the metal frame with a loud “ _thunk_!”

\--

It’s not his first time on Manaan, but he still hates the smell. Ben adjusts the strap over his shoulder, his travel bag hitting against his side. The weather is nice enough, the sun bright and illuminating the endless expanses of ocean that rest under the manufactured island of Ahto City. Contrary to what Kes thought, _The Happabore_ hasn’t exploded. But it is smoking, and Ben reluctantly tears his gaze from the skyline to look back at the piece of junk.

“You paid for this.” He observes, as Finn quickly punches a foil back into place.

Finn glares. “It’s got it where it counts.”

“Salvage?”

“You want a ride back or not?”

“ _Finn,_ ” Kes cuts off with an edge neither of them expect to hear. Ben and Finn turn back to the old man as he finishes tapping through the dock paperwork. “Watch it.”

Finn’s expression goes oddly flat, his posture straightening. Soon, he’s back to that man landing on Takodana—professional and distant. “I got us rooms at _The Lodge Aquatic._ We’ll drop things off there, and then head to where Rey was last seen.”

Kes hands the datapad to the Selkath managing the dock. “You’re the boss.”

Ben’s lips press tightly together.

\--

When they get to the room, Finn pulls off his flightsuit. Underneath, he’s wearing a standard military tank top.

Ben pauses despite himself. Eyes drawn to the scar.

It’s a deep one, puckered and star-shaped, and it nearly overtakes the soldier’s entire shoulder. It’s waxy and a lighter, shinier brown than the tone of his skin. Likely from a burn.

“Want to know how I got it?” Finn’s voice is cold.

Ben clears his throat. “Sorry.”

The younger man quickly pulls on a shirt.

“There’s more,” is all he states, keeping his back to the wall.

They don’t speak on the way out.

\--

The restaurant’s different in person than it was through the grainy holonet feed. For one, the large, glass door that leads to the outside deck is being replaced, the exit marked off with scrolling Aurabesh: UNDER REPAIRS. The deck itself looks partially sunken, a large amount of boards torn out from the flooring.

For another, there’s no Jedi.

“Rey,” Finn whispers as he surveys the damage, as if to chastise her from light-years away. He moves past Ben and Kes, maneuvering around patrons enjoying their lunch to make his way to the bar.

The barkeep, a Selkath, asks Finn something Ben doesn’t understand.

Finn seems to, though. “We don’t need a menu. I was wondering if I could speak to a manager?”

The Selkath’s fishy eyes go wide, one of its lenses horizontally blinking rapidly as it spouts off a rambling list of questions.

“No, no. I’m sure the food’s fine-“ Finn leans back. “ _How_ many nails-? Never mind. I’m here to talk about security feeds. I’m a consultant.”

The Selkath stares at him with piscine disbelief.

Finn clears his throat. “With the Resistance.”

The Selkath _snorts,_ a wet and disturbing sound that Ben never wants to hear again in his life.

Finn doesn’t seem to appreciate the brush-off, either. He squares his shoulders, suddenly looking older and more authoritative.

“We’re looking for the Jedi.”

The Selkath’s blue skin goes periwinkle, and it starts shouting, anger and panic evidence from his tone, as well as the word “Corellian.”

Finn raises his hands. “No one’s paying for refurnishing-“

The Selkath starts screaming, slamming a webbed hand on the table-

Ben’s ears are ringing. Pain blossoms between his eyes, likely the start of the migraine. His head still hurts from the ninety alarms on _The Happabore,_ and the frustration of getting hyperblocked by a _Selkath_ makes his hands curl into fists.

“Take it up with the _Knights of Ren,_ then!” Finn shouts.

Ben shoves past him, bracing his fists on the counter with a violent slam. The restaurant goes still and tense, but he ignores it. Instead, he leans forward, the pain in his head abating.

“Tell me what I want to know,” he demands.

Kes and Finn say nothing. The Selkath freezes, its gills flaring.

“Where is. The Jedi.”

The Selkath croaks out something. Ben sends a side glare to Finn, who frowns with obvious disapproval.

“He doesn’t know.”

“Who would?” Ben can almost hear its heartrate spike.

The Selkath takes its time, throat bobbing. But finally it lets out one syllable. “Kyp.”

“Who?”

Four more syllables.

“An actor,” Finn interprets.

“Where is he?”

The Selkath hesitantly points a long finger toward the corner of the restaurant. Ben pivots, seeing a brown-haired man sitting in a corner booth. With a dark look at the Selkath, he storms over, ignoring Kes’s attempt to grab his arm and Finn’s startled “Hey!”

The man is older, perhaps ten or so years over Ben. His hair is roguishly long, brushing the tops of his shoulders which are covered by a green cape.

The man is sitting by himself, though there’s two brandy glasses on the table…

And a helmet.

Ben’s mouth goes dry as he stares at it. Black, with a long shield over where the mouth is covered. A small slit for eyes-

“Dinner theatre gig,” the man says with a cringe of embarrassment, grabbing the helmet and shoving it under the table, “Don’t ask.”

“We’re looking for-“ _Rey_ “-the Jedi.”

The man’s cringe of embarrassment only intensifies, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I already told the cops-“

“Told them what.”

“Let me finish a sentence, and maybe you’ll know.”

Ben’s jaw clenches.

“-I met her at the cantina a few nights ago, looking for a ride. She was attractive, so I bought her a drink-“

Ben’s jaw clenches tighter.

“-And woke up in my apartment with my credit chip stolen.” His face twists into a look between an amused grin and an annoyed scowl. “With an IOU note on my datapad. Cute.” He raises his hands. “But that’s all I got.”

“Did she say where she was going.”

Kyp shakes his head. “Took my money and ran.” His eyebrows shoot up. “Good luck with that one.”

“What else do you know?” Ben demands, not sure why there’s a sudden edge of desperation in his tone.

Kyp slings an arm over the back of the booth. “Told you all I know. Are we going to have a problem?”

“Only if you-“

“ _Ben,_ ” Kes cuts in with his gravelly voice, suddenly appearing at his side. “That’s enough. Let’s go.”

It’s not enough. Ben stares down at the man, meets his green eyes and wants nothing more than to just reach out and grab whatever it is that he saw-

“Ben?” Comes a croak in Selkath.

He tilts his head, glaring at a server. The Selkath tenses, but her webbed fingers dig into an apron strung across her waist. She rattles something off in her language.

“She has something for you,” Finn says in disbelief, sending Ben a look of pure skepticism.

“I’ve never seen her before.”

The Selkath ribbits something out, holding out a datapad to him.

Finn’s tone gains an edge. “Says this was left for a ‘Ben’ almost two weeks ago.”

He grabs it. Scrolls down a half inch.

BEN-  
  
1-023-5319. WAREHOUSE C. ENTRY CODE 1138. WATCH OUT FOR GLASS :)

His brows furrow.

“What is it?” Kes asks guardedly.

“…an address.”

“To Rey?” Finn asks with hopeful desperation.

Ben frowns. Stares at the message. Knows his answer is the truth.“Yes.”

“Can you three go be weird somewhere else?” Kyp mutters, tossing back a shot, “I’m trying to drink _alone_.”

Ben ignores him, meeting Finn’s gaze. They come to an instant agreement.

“Let’s go.”

Kes’s face is carefully neutral.

\--

“You lost your cool back at the bar,” Kes says, hand flexing on the wheel of the speeder they rented. Ben sits beside him, Finn sprawled in the back seat.

“It got results.”

“That’s not how we do things.”

“We have a way of doing things?”

Kes sighs, drumming his thumb against console. “You’re spun up about this Jedi. Why.”

Finn says nothing, but Ben hears him lean forward in his seat.

“She saved my life.”

“That all?”

“Should that be all?” Ben bites out.

Kes shakes his head, turning his attention back to the polished, white streets of Ahto City. Unlike other runs Ben’s been on, Manaan has a relatively low crime rate. Probably has to do with it being populated by fish.

“You know she saved your life?” Finn speaks up from the back.

“There was a video,” he answers tersely.

Finn and Kes share a look through the overhead mirror.

“What?” Ben snaps, tired of the aside glances and tense pauses. “What is it?”

Finn sags back in his seat. Looks out at the whirring streets.

“She never mentioned you. That’s all.”

Ben’s not sure why the words feel like an injury, but they do.

“That’s it up ahead,” Kes segues away, nodding at a row of expansive factories and warehouses. His nose wrinkles. “Smells like kolto manufacturing.”

“Kolto?”

Ben answers Finn for Kes. “Extra powered bacta. It’s only available on Manaan.” He stares at the buildings, all non-descript. Plain. He wracks his mind, trying to see if he’s been here before. Struggling to make any sort of connection like the one he made earlier between the wires and the memory of his father. The message had been addressed to him. From before, as though someone were waiting for him to arrive.

“What is it?” Kes leans forward, powering down the speeder.

Ben shakes his head. “I…had a memory, earlier. Trying to see if something else comes back.”

Kes watches him. “About what?”

“My dad,” Ben mutters off-handedly, his attention on the building and his mind oblivious to the wounded look that crosses both Finn and Kes’s faces.

“This is likely a trap,” Finn mutters, hoping out of the side of the speeder. He reaches underneath the seat and withdraws his heavy blaster.

“Looks like you’re going in anyway,” Kes says without amusement.

Ben follows him. It’s broad daylight, and the warehouses hardly look intimidating in it.  He pats the side of his hip, feeling the light, handheld blaster and feeling little reassurance from it. It seems…pitiful, to other weapons.

“Are you coming?” Finn asks Kes.

The old man runs his hand down his face, before turning off the speeder.

“You’ll need a pointman.”

\--

The code on the datapad works.  
But the warehouse is empty.

There’s nothing but rows of empty halls, all of them the pristine white of everything else in Ahto. Ben frowns as they open up panel after panel, doors parting to reveal nothing behind them but sterile, stark rooms.

They clear out most of the warehouse when Kes gives a slow shake of his head.

“Scrubbed.”

Finn nods. “Standard protocol for safehouses in the First Order.”

Ben shoots him a look. “First Order?”

Finn’s lips press together. “We’re really not going to get into the former career thing, got it?”

“You were _First Order_?”

“Any comm chatter?” Finn directs pointedly at Kes.

The older man taps his monitor. “None. Silent.” He exhales sharply through his nostrils. “This is a dead end.”

“We should do another sweep-“

Ben tunes them out, his eyes trained on a door on the opposite side of the hall. He takes a few steps toward it, walking in slow steps as though in a fog. As though he’s retracing older steps, like footprints in the snow.

When he gets closer, the door doesn’t look any different than the rest of them. White, small panels.

But there’s a patch of syrupy liquid underneath it. It’s small. He wouldn’t have noticed it walking by.

Numbly, Ben pushes the flat of his fist against the panel.  
The door swooshes open.

This room isn’t empty.

Shattered glass covers the floor, snapped wiring flickering from the ceiling and spilled kolto making a large puddle. Ben follows it with his gaze, eyes training on a tank that’s been clearly severed in half. His mouth goes dry as his pupils dilate.

_He feels her wake up. It’s been two weeks where he wasn’t sure if she was dead, wasn’t sure if his men had foolishly killed her (they had paid for it)-_

Ben takes a step into the room. Glass crunches under his feet.

_He remembers their last words, before he saw her shot down. Before he saw her cast into space._

Don’t leave, _he had begged, because he doesn’t know what to do with a galaxy that doesn’t have her in it._

 _And there is silence. There is_ silence, _and he sees a flash of orange sluggishly pitched into space. Something in him cracks until-_

I won’t.

_Comes to him in a quiet echo that shakes something in him. Because he knows now, more than he did before, that things have changed-_

Beside the ruined kolto tank is a console. Its screen flickers. Ben makes another move toward it.

_He feels her wake up, submerged in a tank. He screams in frustration, driving his fists into the consoles of his room again and again._

Are you alive?! _He demands._

_And just before he is about to leave, just before he is about to hunt her down to whatever remote corner of the galaxy she’s hidden herself in, she answers without words. A silent promise, telling him that she’s still there-_

Ben pushes down on the button. He hears the echoes of Kes and Finn’s footsteps in the room, but they’re ignored for the message he _knows_ is waiting for him.

Just for him.

Ben watches the screen flicker on all the way. It’s grainy, cutting out frequently. No doubt from the electrical damage caused by the violently ripped wires.

The recording starts. There’s a man.

He’s young, maybe Ben’s age. The first thing Ben notices about him is his eyes—they’re pale, nearly colorless, and it feels as though they’re staring straight at him. As though the man in the recording knows _Ben’s_ here. The next thing he notices is the shock of pale, almost white, hair. It’s jutting up at odd angles, as though the man’s been running his hands through it.

 _“This message is for the Resistance,”_ the man begins, clearly nervous or afraid. Ben’s eyes train on a few droplets of sweat collecting in the corner of his forehead. _“My name is Kev Conoy. I’m a special intelligence agent with the Resistance, R code 119302.”_

The man gives a pause. As if he’s waiting for them to verify it. There’s the sound of a few taps.

“Checks out,” Kes grunts over his datapad.

Ben frowns. The name is familiar to him, though he doesn’t know why.

 _“I’ve been tasked with following Janara Ren, one of the Knights of Ren we’ve been able to identify.”_ His eyes dart around. “ _She brought in a captive earlier today. The prisoner had a lightsaber.”_

“Rey,” Ben whispers.

The man on the screen—Kev—nods. An odd coincidence. _“I’ve been able to determine the Jedi’s mission. She’s after the Knights of Ren. It’s said she’s killed two already, Thudro-Shan and Kylo Ren.”_

Finn and Kes look at him. Ben keeps his gaze trained on the message. He hasn’t heard of either of them.

 _“I’m going to do the best I can to free the Jedi, so she can continue her mission.”_ Kev’s sweat breaks out more intensely. His lips begin to twitch to the side, over and over again. “ _Janara thinks the next target is a Zabrak named Soran Ren in Theed-_ “

There’s a crash. The feed freezes on the still of Kev Conoy, pale eyes looking directly at them.

“Wonder if he made it,” Finn whispers sympathetically.

Ben’s fingers curl on the console’s surface. “Where’s Theed.”

“Naboo,” Kes answers warily.

Ben’s eyes drift to the destroyed room, mind going to the destruction of the restaurant. To the memory of a voice, a woman in a message. He closes his eyes and sees her face—her hazel eyes bright, her dark hair plastered by the rain to her neck.

“Then we go after her.” He’s surprised when Finn speaks his intention.

Kes looks at Finn. “Sure about that?”

Finn’s eyes go soft. “It’s for Rey.”

Kes stares at them both, as though he feels a headache. He slowly packs his datapad.

“Fine. Lead on.”

Ben’s gaze flickers to the frozen image of Kev Conoy. His colorless eyes. Pale features. Something twists in him, cold and foreign and _furious._

“Yes,” he says in a voice that’s distant. Deeper. Almost metallic. “Let’s go to Theed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The old woman Soran was talking to is [Ryoo Naberrie](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Ryoo_Naberrie/Legends), who followed in grandpa's footsteps to become a professor ;)
> 
> -The man in the restaurant is [Kyp Durron](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Kyp_Durron), an EU character with quite a few similarities to Kylo Ren ;). He is staring as Kyle Ron somewhere in this verse's version of [The Ember Island Players](http://avatar.wikia.com/wiki/The_Ember_Island_Players)


	7. Soran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have fun ;) thanks for all the lovely comments last chapter, i'll be getting to them shortly!

**\--**  
**Rey**.  
\--

_“Rey.”_

_She doesn’t look at him, only slugs the heavy pail of water to the fire. The sun’s rising, and they’re changing campsites today—going closer to the ruins of the old temples._

_“Rey.”_

_She turns. “I know what I’m doing.”_

_Luke sits on a nearby rock, his legs folded in a standard meditation pose but his eyes open. “This path isn’t going to lead you where you want to go.”_

_Rey bites down on her lip, eyes stinging. “I just.” She looks up at the sky of Ahch-To. Breathes in the salt of the ocean, hears the caws of the birds. Light is rising on the horizon, dull pinks and oranges adding a hint of color to the endless blues, greens, and greys._

_She knows this memory is from five years ago. And that it’s_ gone.

_“I want to go back to this,” she whispers. Her body goes boneless, and she sits on the wet ground. Lets her fingers dig into the muddy soil, feel the moss under her palms._

_Luke shakes his head. “We can’t go back,” he says sadly._

_Tears stream down her cheeks, and she blinks back the sting of the salt, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Is this a dream?”_

_“You know,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “I don’t really know.”_

_Rey smiles, even though it feels like her heart is breaking. She looks at the sun rising, the light flooding their campsite. “I always loved the mornings, here.”_

_“Me too.”_

_“Can I…” her voice falters a little. “Can I stay here with you for it?”_

_“I’m not going anywhere.”_

_She hugs her knees to chest, and watches morning come._

_\--_

Rey wakes up with a crick in her neck and the sun in her eyes. The sheets are tangled around her legs, her head hurts.

There’s dirt under her fingernails.

She frowns, the dream coming back to her. That old ache in her chest hardening. She pushes herself up into a sitting position, eyes darting around the small lodging room. Paid for by that man’s credit chip. She cringes, her fingers absently padding until the come into contact with the datapad on her table. She yawns, tapping the screen alive and scrolling to the bottom of her list to make a new entry:

 _Zekk 90 credits_  
_Jagged Fel 210 credits_  
_Kyp Durron_

She sighs.

_Kyp Durron 3000 credits._

Tapping it off, she stretches, linking her fingers above her head and cracking her back.

Rey looks out the open window. Sunrise is over, she doesn’t remember the last time she slept in so late. Mentally, she runs over her plans. She knows where Soran’s going to be, and she knows how to get to him.

It’s today. It has to be today.

Her eyes drift to the crystal and lightsaber resting on her nightstand.

It’s another step closer. She’s seen it.

 

\--  
**Ben.  
\--**

It’s his second night sleeping in these damn bunk beds, and his neck’s killing him. The sound of Kes’s snoring isn’t helping either. With an angry glare, he punches his pillow and tosses it on the floor, following it down to the ground. The metal is cold against his back, but he folds his hands over his stomach and stares at the roof of _The Happabore._

He’s done this before, he thinks. With her. With Rey.

Ben closes his eyes, and for a moment it’s like she’s there. Her head tucked under his chin, the smell of engine grease and sun in her hair. His arms around her.

He…

Ben’s brows furrow, as he remembers the thoughts that hit him walking into the room with the broken kolto tank. He had begged her not to leave. Her voice had matched the one in his memories, the promise that was never kept. She had left a message about him, as though she expected him to wake up and find it.

 _She never mentioned you, that’s all.  
Call off your Jedi _ schutta _, we know about the bond!_  
 _I’ve missed you._  
 _…Maybe it’s time you settled down. Met a girl._  
 _I’m Rey._

Restless, and unable to sleep, he grabs his datapad out from underneath the bunk. The light blue glow of the screen illuminates the room, but Finn and Kes are both out cold. He scrolls the holonet, looking for anything about Jedi.

It looks like most the data about them has been scrubbed from the ‘net, but he catches glimpses of facts—all of them written in past tense. _Were_ monastic. _Were_ peace keepers.

… _were_ forbidden from attachments.

He rereads the page at least a dozen times. Ben looks at his hand. There’s never been a strip on his ring finger paler than the rest of his skin. But there wouldn’t be. Not if…

He violently shuts off the datapad, slamming the back of his head against the floor.

If they _were_ anything, she broke her promise.  
He doesn’t know which would be worse. If this is all in his head. Or if it isn’t, and she left him.

\--

“We’re about an hour away from Theed,” Finn tells him the next morning.

Ben nods, distracted as he solders some wires together. “Any information on Soran?”

Finn hesitates. “Yeah. He, uh. Wasn’t a hard guy to find.”

Ben sets down the plasma torch and looks up with a raised brow.

Finn moves to his side, holding up his datapad. “Looks like this Knight of Ren has a day job.”

He looks at the screen, illuminating the profile of an orange Zabrak. His neck is thick, corded with muscle. He frowns, looking at the text accompanying it.

WELCOME TO OUR FACULTY PAGE  
  
PROFESSOR SORAN  
TELEMETRY, HELIOTROPICS, AND ASTROPHYSICS

PATENTS-

The list scrolls forever.

“An…academic,” he says skeptically, looking at the Zabrak’s profile. The deeply furrowed eyebrows, the poorly disguised rage. For a moment, he sees…

_“Keep up, beanpole!” The teenager yells with a wide, manic smile. He runs up the jungle mountain like it’s nothing, a basket of rocks easily held on his back._

_He glares, breath coming in short stabs._ It’s not fair, _he thinks. “You have_ two _hearts!”_

…something else.

“Why would Rey go after him?” Finn muses out loud to himself. “It’s…not like her.”

Ben tries to keep his voice uninterested. “What is she like?”

“Brave,” Finn says quickly, words growing sadder as he goes on. “Resourceful. Loyal. She’d do anything for her friends.”

“Friends like you.”

He watches, as it washes over Finn like a filter—he realizes who he’s talking to. “Yeah, like me.”

Ben pushes his goggles to the top of his head. “You don’t like me,” he observes.

Finn clears his throat. “We’re a team for this. You don’t need me to like you.”

“No,” Ben agrees. “But I want to know why.” He steals himself, knowing he’s about to push these nameless, silent boundaries between them when he asks the next question. “Is it about Rey?”

 Finn switches off his datapad, leaning back. “I have my reasons. Rey’s only one of them.”

“Reasons that have to do with the First Order?”

A look of pure anger crosses his face, and Finn pivots so he’s face to face with Ben. “Let’s get something straight, I’m not going to Naboo to swap stories with you. You don’t know me, got it?”

Ben frowns. “What were you? An officer?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was a Stormtrooper.” He glares. “Serving under Captain Phasma. Know who she had to serve?”

He’s never heard the name. Finn presses on.

“ _Kylo Ren._ ” He scoffs. “Bet you don’t even know who that is.”

“Kev mentioned him,” he starts, defensive.

Finn gives a show shake of his head, and like a snuffed candle all the anger’s gone out of him. Instead, there’s something hollow and resigned in his place. “Yeah, he did. He also said he’s dead. Know what I think?”

Ben presses down on his lips.

“I don’t think he’s dead.” Finn’s gaze flickers up to meet his. “I think he’s waiting to make fools out of all of us.”

Ben isn’t sure what to say, but as he struggles to find a response, Finn stands up.

“Forget it,” he mutters, taking a few steps back toward the bunks. “Just. Be ready for landing soon.”

He watches the soldier go, his hands having a slight shake to them as he goes to pick up the plasma torch again.

\--

There’s something he likes about Theed.

It’s not his sort of place—everything is too clean, too vibrant in a functional sort of way. As soon as they enter the market district, a group of young girls run past him, the ribbons in their hair trailing out behind them. A fountain is to his left, trickling down a water that is clear enough to be crystal. All the buildings have a uniformity in color if not design, sand-colored walls and green-shingled roofs standing proud and tall in the city.

One of the girls runs into his leg. She looks up with wide, brown eyes.

He looks down. Frowns.

“Padme!” Calls a woman from further down the street. “Leave the-“ the woman looks at his attire. “-…nice man alone.”

The little girl smiles with a mouth full of missing teeth and waves. “Bye!”

He watches her go, frown growing deeper.

“Busy,” he observes dryly.

“Theed’s the biggest cultural center this side of the Outer Rim,” Kes says to his side, his eyes bloodshot from the near-constant piloting he’s performed on the trip.

“You’ve been here?”

“Not personally. My wife’s told me stories.”

“She’s from Naboo?”

Kes gives a sad smile. “Not exactly. She was stationed here for a bit after the war. Flew for Princess Leia herself.”

Ben’s never heard Kes talk about his wife. “…The General.”

“Yeah. Shara Bey would’ve gotten a kick out of that. Course, she’d also be charging right back into the firefight, knowing her.”

Ben catches the use of the past tense and doesn’t say anything. He only stares at the market, the glistening, golden dome of the Padme Naberrie Cultural Center of the Arts in the distance.

“…I’m sure it was hard for her to leave here,” he tries diplomatically. For once.

Kes grins, suddenly looking like a far younger man. “Yavin had its perks.”

Finn clears his throat, walking up beside Kes with his datapad in hand. “The University of Theed is up ahead.”

Ben looks at the big, opulent building. Literal doves fly in the air.

This isn’t the sort of place that he’s used to.

\--

“Office hours are posted in the door,” the older woman says crisply. She’s wearing a simple, lavender gown bundled with silver bands, and Ben somehow gets the impression that it’s ridiculously expensive despite its minimalist fashion. Her hair, a shade or two lighter than her dress, is done up in a ridiculously complicated series of braids and twists. And the look she sends him makes him feel automatically guilty—as if he’s about to be scolded for the grease staining his hands or the spots on his long-sleeved henley shirt.

“We’re looking for Professor Soran,” Finn says, a smile on his face and a natural charisma pouring from him. Ben watches as he casually leans on the office counter, as though this is a place he’s been a thousand times.

The University of Theed is polished in every corner, the dark wood and warm color palettes instantly inviting and also promoting an effortless sort of refinement. Ben feels like the collar of his shirt is too tight, his hair too messy, his ears too big.

If the woman was restrained before, there’s a cold flash in her features that makes her appear downright hostile now. “And what could you want with _Soran._ ” She eyes the blasters at their hips and shoulders, lips pursing as though she found the evidence needed to confirm an already well-supported conclusion.

“…Office hours?” Finn supplies weakly.

“With blasters,” the woman says, dripping ice. “See yourselves out or I will inform security. This is an _educational_ facility, gentlemen.”

“Just tell us where to find him,” Ben growls.

“With a proposition like that, how could I refuse.” The woman eyes Kes. _Eyes_ Kes, but it’s brief and quickly dismissive. “Escort your boys out. This is your last warning.”

“We’re with the Resistance,” Finn pleads.

The woman pauses. A groomed, solitary eyebrow raises. “Under General Organa?”

“Yes!”

The woman seems to war with herself, before sighing. “Provide some sort of documentation.” She adjusts her hands, raising a pair of slim spectacles with her face. “Quickly, now. I have qualifying exams to administer and low patience.”

Kes hands over his datapad. The woman eyes him again, but takes it. A brief, reserved smile crosses her face and instantly dies.

“She does so well at finding trouble, doesn’t she?” The woman hands Kes back the datapad, manicured fingernails catching the light. “I can only assume you’re here to arrest the unprofessional thug?”

“You know him?” Finn asks.

“I chair the Department,” she lightly rubs her temple. “And have been searching for a reason to excuse him from his position. Unfortunately, tenure.”

“Tenure,” Kes grunts in sympathy.

“He’s out of office today, due to the fundraiser.” She stands, moving back to work. “Though I imagine you can meet with him tomorrow.” She purses her lips again. “ _Off_ of school grounds, of course.”

“What’s the fundraiser?” Ben demands.

She scowls, rendering her aristocratic features into an ugly expression. “ _Gala,_ technically. Soran’s made a habit of accepting government contracts. _Completely_ apprehensible to the profession, and a poor light on the University.” She sniffs. “He’s meeting with representatives there from one of his subsidiary companies.”

The First Order, Ben thinks. His mind races, recalling the Knight of Ren’s specialties. Telemetry. Heliotropics. Astrophysics-

-everything to make a weapon. The image flashes across his mind, quick and sporadic. Trees. Snow. A streak of red against the blackness of space-

“We’ll see him tomorrow,” Kes’s voice cuts through. “Thank you, Mrs.-?”

“ _Doctor_ Naberrie.” The woman pointedly shuffles some files in her hand, despite them being hosted on datapads. “And just arrest the man, _please._ I can’t stomach another committee meeting.”

\--

Kes drops his finger to a spot on the projected map. “Exits are here, here, and here. Keeping it by the walkway will decrease the likelihood of civilian causalities should things get ugly.”

“Why not get him at the gala,” Ben mutters, his eyes dark on the frozen profile of Soran. He commits every angle to memory—the patterns of his tattoos. The number of horns on his head. It sits on his chest like an ugly promise.

_I’m coming for you._

“A thousand and one risks,” Kes grunts back. “Too many civilians, security, and unknown variables. Getting him during the work day will be a better move.”

“If he’s still there.”

“Why wouldn’t he be there?” Finn asks him guardedly.

“I’ve got a bad feeling.” Acid drips from every syllable.

Kes rolls his eyes. “I got a _worse_ feeling about storming a government gala.”

Ben’s teeth clench. He knows how this is going to go—his word won’t matter. He’ll follow the lead of Kes or Finn. And frustration threatens to boil over, a mad anxiety thrumming in his blood.

He _knows_ that waiting for tomorrow will be too late. That whatever is going to happen, needs to happen _tonight_ or they’ll be missing their chance.

“We need to go tonight,” Ben demands.

Kes exhales. “I know what I’m doing, Ben.”

“So do I,” he barely fights back the shout.

“We’ll corner him tomorrow morning. Pretend to be independent contractors.” Kes sends him a level look. “It’s the safest option. For us and for Rey.”

“No.”

“Then we vote.” Kes turns his attention to Finn. “In favor of going tonight?”

“Me,” Ben bites off. He also watches Finn. “It’ll be too late tomorrow, Finn.”

Finn watches him, a war dancing across his expression. Finally, he clears his throat. “I’m for tomorrow,” he declares, before turning and leaving the room.

Ben slams his fist against the console.

He’s not going to wait.

\--

Ben’s heart is thrumming in his chest. He waits until he hears Kes’s tell-tale snores from _The Happabore_ before he grabs the blaster under the bunk and pulls on his boots.

 _Too late too late too late_ spins around his head like an echo. He exhales, grabbing his multi-tool kit and snapping it around his waist.

He glances at Kes and Finn, both out in their bunks, before he quietly slips away from the Star Cruiser.

\--

He’s never done anything like this before. His adrenaline is in overdrive, and Ben watches every move, every twitch. The gala, he’s found out, is being hosted in the Amidala Botanical Gardens—a few blocks outside of the Palace District. The streets are flooded with hovercars and even the occasional drawn carriage. A parade of people wearing ornate gowns and suits, bright lights and soft string music. The Amidala Gardens are open to the public, as are any events hosted in them, but he sees what are clearly security details hovering by the entrances and inside the elaborate greenhouse.

He breathes. His hand goes to pat his blaster but ends up poised over his multi-kit instead.

He can do this.

Ben walks in.

Several heads turn, most of them catching sight of his outfit and sneering. There’s something about Theed that always makes him feel unclean, and being in the middle of a gala immersed in wealth isn’t helping the sensation. He notices that the serving droids pointedly aren’t offering him champagne.

“Public viewing spaces are this way, sir,” one of the protocol droids says politely, its silver head tilting toward a separate path, framed by beautiful and sprawling white flowers.

He walks past it, eyes scanning the crowd for a flash of orange.

“Sir-“

“Can it.”

“Sir!” The droid gasps, affronted.

There’s hundreds of people at this thing. None of them look like the Zabrak in the profile. Ben tries to bottle his frustration and fails, pivoting to face the protocol droid.

“Have you seen a man named Soran?”

The protocol droid tilts its head again. “Public viewing spaces are this way, _sir._ ”

Ben glares, ready to slam the wrench of his multi-kit into the thing’s head-

“Sounds great, thanks droid.” There’s a pat on his shoulder. Ben cranes his head to meet Finn’s flat stare. “C’mon,” he mutters, heading down the path.

Ben’s hands curl into fists, but he follows him. “What are you doing here?”

Finn snorts. “You really think you can leave without waking me up? You constantly stomp around like you’re trying to crush something.”

“What about Kes?”

“Kes could sleep through a bomb.”

Ben hisses out his next exhale. “Don’t try and stop me.”

“From what? Upsetting a protocol unit?”

“Finding Soran.”

“Are you going to hit him with your wrench?”

Ben narrows his eyes.

Finn rests his hands on his hips. “You’re not a soldier. You’re a mechanic.”

“I’m not turning back. _He’s here._ ”

The soldier’s expression goes thoughtful. “You were serious, weren’t you? About tomorrow being too late.”

Tensely, Ben nods.

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t know.”

Finn sighs, as if he can’t believe what he’s about to do. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

“…you trust me.”

“Hell no. This is entirely impulse.”

Despite himself, Ben smiles. It’s an awkward thing.

\--

They scout the party using the public walkways, the layout of the botanical gardens giving them ample opportunity to peer across flora or through glass panes.

It’s nearly two hours of searching, and it’s Soran who finds them.

Ben steps into one of the atriums, Finn following close behind. The room is wide and circular, framed by curling vine-like plants and formed almost entirely by glass. It’s hot and humid, the grass underneath his boots spongey.

And there is an orange man standing in the center of it. Not facing them, his hands folded behind his back. The Zabrak is wearing a tailored, dark suit that seems to strain with every movement he makes.

“Almost reminds you of home, doesn’t it.” Soran’s voice is calm, deep. He brings a tattooed hand to one of the lilies and holds it in his palm.

Ben doesn’t move from his spot at the entrance. Though Finn moves past him to stand by his side, his hand already on the handle of his heavy blaster.

“Then again, maybe it wasn’t home for you.” Soran turns, and his attention is only for Ben. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he greets in that same impartial voice.

He can’t move. It’s like a gravity is weighing on him, heavy and smothering. Ben sneaks a glance at Finn, to see that he must be experiencing the same sensation—sweat beading on his forehead.

“Something’s different about you.” Soran tilts his head, taking a step toward the pair. The grass withers and dies under his boot. The tattoos visible on his skin flare, as though hot, before dimming. “New scar, for one.” He draws a hand diagonally across his face. “Heard that was courtesy of the Resistance.” The Zabrak’s upper lip pulls into a snarl. “Didn’t appreciate them destroying my work, of course. Or you _letting it happen._ ”

“Where’s Rey?” Finn barks out, and Ben is momentarily startled.

Soran glances at him, immediately dismissive. The circumference of dead grass under his feet expands, the tattoos flaring. “Is that why you’re here? For a _girl._ ”

Ben swallows, feeling light-headed. Sick. It’s taking everything in him to stay standing. “You know me.”

“A version of you,” Soran says. “Not this one.” He laughs, and it’s a short and barbed sound. “You can barely stand. Perhaps I do Supreme Leader a favor, and finish this now.”

Soran reaches behind his back, slowly withdrawing two, silver cylinders. One for each hand. They ignite, blades of a shade that looks almost burgundy emerging from them. The Zabrak holds his weapons in reverse, and when he brings them up behind him, the seams of his suit tear open, revealing patches of more tattooed skin.

Finn manages to break away from whatever hold the Zabrak has on them, lifting his blaster and firing-

Soran deflects in a movement that is so fast it is almost liquid, the shot reflecting and singing one of the vines.

“Come now,” he states. “Is that truly the best you can do?”

Ben reaches for the blaster at his side-

The Zabrak extends an arm, and before he can register what’s happening, his feet are lifted from the ground and his body is colliding with the glass wall with enough force to shatter through it. He hears a brief cry from Finn, and hears another crash echoing his own.

He wheezes, the air knocked from his lungs and his ribs screaming in pain. Glass peppers the ground, and the sting of lacerations covers his body. Blood from a cut on his head floods into his eye and he tries to blink, his fingers attempting to wrap around the wrench of his multi-kit-

“Stay down.”

He coughs, struggling to move from his supine position. With a heaving breath, he manages to get on his stomach, using his elbows to prop himself up-

“ _Down._ ”

A pair of dark grey boots appear in his line of vision. Ben’s heart crawls to a stop, as he tilts his head back to look up.

A woman stands over him, a hooded cloak covering her from head-to-boot. Only her mouth and chin are visible, and her lips are in a grim line.

He coughs again, certain his ribs are broken now. “You…”

“Don’t move,” the woman whispers. “I’ll handle this.”

The edge of her cloak seems to float over him, and it takes all the strength he has to pull himself up into a seat. He watches, as the woman in grey steps in through the hole his body has just made.

She stands there, silent and solemn, facing Soran Ren.

Soran smiles, ruthless and dark. “ _You,_ I was waiting for.”

“You know why I’m here.”

“I do, Jedi Killer.”

Ben watches as the woman undoes the fasten of her cloak. Two slim hands pull back the hood, revealing waves of dark brown hair done up in a half bun. Hazel eyes. A scar on her cheek. Freckles.

“Then I won’t make you wait any longer.”

The cloak flutters to the ground, and two silver blades spring up in its place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE YOU NEXT TIME.


	8. No One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your lovely comments on the past two chapters! i'm making my way through them and should have responded to everyone shortly :D

\--  
**Rey.**  
\--  
  
He’s not supposed to be here.

Rey swallows, trying to keep her mind clear as she approaches Soran Ren, but the thought won’t leave her. She saw this encounter in the flow, and in it, there was only the two of them. No one else. Her eyes drift to where Finn lies unconscious on the ground, and her heart twists at the sight of her closest friend in so much pain.

 _He was coming after_ you, _Rey. They both were._ A traitorous voice whispers in her mind, one that sounds far too much like a younger version of herself.

She doesn’t want to think about the other man. With his wide eyes and multikit around his waist. _Who isn’t supposed to be here._

“Distracted?” Soran Ren gloats, his square features fixing themselves into a malicious sneer. “Maybe the rumors are true, then.”

Rey doesn’t want to think about rumors. Or her unconscious best friend. Or the man who is not Kylo on the ground behind her.

 _Clear your mind. Live only for this moment._ Luke’s voice rings clear in her head, and it’s enough to get her body to disconnect from her worries. To get ready to fight. The Jedi are guardians, and right now she needs to get ready to protect what’s important—the rest can and will be sorted out later.

“You were waiting for me,” is all she manages, rotating her wrist. Her blades rotate in a quick snap, a whir of silver to her side.

“Janara told me of you. It is not so often my wife is impressed.” The Zabrak begins to stalk, the two of them moving in a lazy circle around the atrium. Glass crunches underneath their boots.

Rey has seen this. Heard these words before. But _his_ presence changes things. She can feel him behind her, as Force sensitive as a clod of dirt but she’s still somehow very _aware_ of his eyes on her. His jaw going slack.

 _Live only for the moment,_ she reminds herself. “You know who I’m looking for.”

Soran dips his head. “Were it up to me, you could have him. But there are greater forces at work than a single Knight of Ren.” His eyes narrow. The twin, burgundy lightsabers he wields flash with a quick twirl as he, too, rotates his wrist. “I have orders to take you alive.”

Rey is not surprised. She swallows, because she’s seen the distance of one of her paths and knows who it is that is eagerly waiting for her at the end of it.  The name echoes like a poisonous backbeat in her mind: _Snoke._

Soran gives the barest inclination of his chin, confirming the thought.

“I need to find Aalto,” Rey says coldly. In a slow motion, she bends her knees and rears back the arm holding her saberstaff.

The vines hanging over Soran’s head wither away and his tattoos flare. His eyes glint with anticipation. “They say you’re something of a fighter.”

She nods.

“Then I look forward to this, Jedi Killer.”

He charges, the reverse grip on his lightsabers allowing for him to lash out in quick, effortless strikes. Rey waits until she can feel the heat on her face before she lifts her arm, rotating her double-bladed lightsaber in a well-rehearsed movement. Soran’s two blades crash against her own, repelled by the circular parry.

He takes a half step back. Lets out a low chuckle. Then crouches low to the ground, swinging his blades up in a quick, cutting motions. The blades move _fast,_ faster than she anticipated with his build and she watches them, tracking their movements.

Burgundy flashes in punches of light, and Rey twirls to the side, evading them in a motion that looks effortless. She sees anger contort Soran’s features, and he swings his arms to the side, lightsabers slicing the air in a semi-circle.

She dodges underneath, bringing up one end of her lightsaber near his chin. He moves, and she swings the other end at his knee.

It connects as a scrape, the smell of burned polyfibers and flesh hitting her nostrils.

Soran only grunts, jumping back and raising his lightsabers overhead.

Rey charges, her discarded cloak allowing her to move quickly as she leaps for an aerial strike, bringing the end of her blade down near his neck and shoulder. He deflects it, but her booted foot follows after and a kick snaps at his jaw. She lands in a crouch on the opposite side of him as he stumbles. Soran pops his jaw, shaking out his shoulders.

“That was a strike to kill,” he observes, unconcerned that she’s been able to land two hits in less than a minute.

Still in her crouch, Rey brings her arm in front of her, the silver glow of her weapon forming a horizontal line across her chest.

He laughs. “ _Good._ ”

Soran swings down, and Rey rotates her body to miss the hit, using the Force to help her land her feet in a stance as she enters a spin. He slashes again, his technique sloppy but brutal, fast. She can feel the adrenaline start to flood her system as she blocks the first blade aimed at the top of her head, barely shifting her lightsaber fast enough to block the second saber aimed at her ribs. She kicks out, her foot planting itself in Soran’s chest and making him stagger.

She advances, thrusting out with either end of her blade in rapid fishtail movements aimed at his shoulder, his side, his face. Soran growls, swinging an arm and backhanding her across the cheek with the metal of his hilt.

Dark spots flood her vision at the connection and she gives a brief exhale of pain, stumbling backward-And a shot from a blaster almost takes off her head.

Both Soran and Rey’s attention pivots toward the shooter. And something is horrendously painful about seeing the man she knew as Kylo standing there, hand awkwardly wrapped around a blaster too small for his grip. A scrunched look of confusion on his face, as though he’s never had to shoot it before.

Soran snarls. “ _You.”_

And raises a hand toward Kylo-

Rey reacts on instinct, throwing out her hand faster and pushing Kylo down. His body lifts and is tossed out of the way like a doll. “Stay back!” She demands with an anger she didn’t know she had.

Soran sends her a look of dark amusement that lasts for about two seconds before she tries to cleave off his head. He deflects her strike, his other lightsaber hooking around the other side of the blade, locking her into a standstill with him.

“Better fight hard, little Jedi,” he says with a wicked calm. “ _Him_ I don’t need alive. Or your friend who can actually aim.”

Rey bunches her eyebrows, and slams him to the ground with the Force.

Soran wheezes after his spine connects with the dirt, and Rey wastes no time in swinging down her lightsaber at his chest. He rolls at the last minute, her blade instead carving out a significant part of his bicep.

His scream of pain echoes in the atrium, and he extends his hand at her.

Rey flies back, her body brutally colliding with a stone bench. She feels its edge snap one of her ribs.

“REY!” She hears shouted from somewhere to her left.

“ _Stay back!”_ She screams at the stranger that is not Kylo, her vision red and her nerves burning. Stretching out her senses, she waves a hand and freezes his movement. Without looking at him, Rey then channels what energy she can spare into knitting her ribs, and the cool wash of the Force heal gives her enough strength to stand.

Soran’s arm hangs useless at his side—not quite severed, but close. His grip on the lightsaber maintained through sheer will.

What Rey sees next makes her pulse slow.

Soran’s eyes roll up and he cranes his head back. The tattoos on his skin glow, hot and near-blinding, and Rey watches as the ruined arm begins to reform right in front of her. The grass, vines, and flowers that surround Soran becoming dry and withered husks. She’s never seen anything like it before, something as corrosive and twisted as this man’s version of the Force heal.

“Round two,” he mutters, flexing his newly-repaired arm.

“How-?” Rey whispers.

Soran grins. “Jedi are not the only ones who can redirect lifeforce.” He throws his lightsaber across the distance between them and it spins at her head.

She redirects it with the Force, pushing it back toward its master. Soran catches it easily.

“So much work for the monk,” he says.

“It’s worth it to me.”

Soran snorts. “He’s never been able to construct a lightsaber, you know. I hardly see why that simpering coward is allowed the attention of the only Jedi.”

Her fingers feel cold and clammy against the metal of her well-worn hilt. She steadies her breathing. Whatever Soran is, she suspects this fight has the potential to be like the one against Janara. This time, she refuses to wake up in a tank.

“He’s who I need,” she bites out. “Tell me where to find him, and this doesn’t have to continue.”

Soran’s eyes widen, his expression intelligent. “Because of Kylo Ren?”

Rey swallows. It takes everything in her not to turn to where she’s frozen him in place. Her heart beats faster in her chest.

And she realizes that Soran is staring at it. At the cracked crystal that hangs around her neck.

“Interesting,” he observes, like she is something pinned down on a specimen’s table. “And perhaps an explanation of the no kill order we have.” He tilts his head, turning to look at where Kylo stands. Rey does not follow it. “Does he know?”

“Don’t,” she hisses.

“Do you _want_ him to know?”

“Where is Aalto Ren!” She demands, patience leaving her as panic settles in. Rey reaches out into his mind-  
-only to find that he doesn’t know.

She closes her eyes.

And barely has time to block his next swing, heavier and more forceful than the last.

“Stay _out._ Of my mind!” Soran’s expression takes on a maniacal look, his left hand swings up toward her side-

-the blade brushes it, and she gasps at the pain of the long, seamless burn that now crosses her ribs.

Something behind her twitches at her senses, but she doesn’t have time to react to it. Instead she drops to a knee. With an aching inhale, she pushes her body into a roll, barely avoiding Soran’s next attack. Rey gets up, swinging her lightsaber-

-and her body is lifted and thrown into a nearby tree. Rey slides down the trunk, but pushes herself up just in time to swing at the approaching Soran-

His tattoos flash, the tree dies behind her, and a burgundy light cleaves the hilt of her lightsaber in half.

Rey doesn’t allow herself to feel grief or horror as her beloved weapon splits into two parts, only one end of her blade unextinguished. She blindly strikes out, only to have Soran burn the back of her hand with his lightsaber. Rey cries out at the sudden pain, her grip releasing what’s left of the hilt on her weapon.

 ** _No!_** She hears screamed in her mind.

Soran brings his lightsaber down to pierce her shoulder. Rey doesn’t think before she improvises, lifting up her undamaged hand.

Soran’s blade stops against her palm, her mind willing the Force into it as a barricade. He bares his teeth, and she bares her own as she _pushes,_ shoving back the lightsaber with her mind. He brings up his other blade, and she repeats it- a sharp hiss of pain escaping her at flexing the badly burned appendage. They stand, locked in a standstill, sweat beading down both their brows as she uses the Force to block his strikes.

Rey opens her mind and body up fully to the Force. Drawing it into her in waves. It builds, rising and rising, until Soran’s eyes widen with realization. It builds like a bomb in her chest, a raging monster ready to be untethered. Her opponent’s fear prickles at the edge of her perception for the first time since they’ve started this battle, as he realizes what it is that she’s about to set free.

The wave crests. Rey lets out a steady breath-

And an electric crackle fills the air, just an instant before Soran is struck by lightning.

Her opponent collapses to the ground, writhing and screaming as his tattoos and veins flare purple.

It’s not her doing.

Rey turns with wide eyes to see the man who is not Kylo Ren standing behind her, his arm outstretched and a dark, hateful expression on his scarred face.

\--  
**Ben  
** \--

  
What will scare him later is that he didn’t even think about it. It had been as easy as breathing. Static had collected on the back of his neck, travelled down his arms, and rested in his palm. It had rattled against the hold she had wrapped him in, extended and blossomed.

And he had just lifted his hand. And out came the lightning.

Soran is twitching from his place on the ground. Still alive. His clothes smoking.

He’s…glad. Ben’s glad. He doesn’t understand how this is happened, but there’s a perverse and intense joy solidifying in his chest as he watches the man in pain.

He had hurt her.

It hadn’t been a decision. He had hurt her, and he had to pay for it.

The static travels down his neck again.

“Don’t,” she whispers from where she stares at him—it’s the first time she’s looked at him since she stepped in to fight on his behalf. Her eyes are wide. Is she afraid of him?

He can feel Soran’s heartbeats in his palm, the electric pulses there for him to manipulate or end. Somehow, he knows all it would take is his hand clenching one more time and they would both go still.

“He wanted to kill you,” he manages, the thought unacceptable. He feels Soran’s hearts skitter in phantom movements on his fingertips.

“He didn’t,” Rey says levelly, pushing herself up into a stand. She still keeps her distance. Something rages in him at that. “So put down your hand.”

Confusion and anger tug at him in equal parts. He wants Soran dead. He knows that for a fact. Ben glances at her, at his Jedi who is staring at him like he’s a Zakkeg about to charge.

“I don’t-“

“I know,” she whispers, taking a step toward him. When he doesn’t respond, doesn’t react, she takes another step closer. Her fingers, calloused and rough and warm, wrap around his extended hand. A jolt passes between them both at the contact, no doubt a result of the-

Of the lightning.

The reality of what has just happened crashes down on him like a wave. Ben drops his hand in a violent motion, and Rey’s touch falls from his skin.

“What was that?” He demands of her, disgust crawling up his throat at what he had almost done. What he _did_ do. The air is heavy with electrical heat.

Her face twists up in sympathy, but she doesn’t have an answer for him. “I…” She still hasn’t met his gaze. “I’m sorry. Neither of you were supposed to be here tonight.”

Ben stares down at her. “What do you mean?”

“I- I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Then how did you know where to find him.”

“I can’t tell you that, either.”

He snaps. “Then what can you tell me, Rey?”

She winces at the sound of her own name. Or maybe it’s just the sound of her name from him. “I need to think-“

“I want answers.”

“Well, you might not get them!”

“Why are you after a monk?” He asks, remembering the conversation he witnessed as she battled against Soran.

“I’m going to check on Finn-“

“And why won’t you look at me?”

She tenses. There’s a brief, hissing noise, and before Ben can react she’s pivoting on her heel. Her hand flies out- half of her shredded lightsaber landing in her palm. With an easy motion, she finishes her turn, flips her grip, and her lightsaber pieces through the back of a charging Soran Ren. Ben feels one of his hearts go silent.

Soran’s white-violet gaze seems to stare straight through Ben. He wheezes as he collapses, one of his hands outstretched as if to grab his shirt.

Rey’s face is cold as she disengages her lightsaber. The silver light vanishes, and the atrium is dark.

“You…killed him,” he whispers in something that is not disbelief. Not shock. Just pure and flat observation.  
  
She doesn’t say anything. Only picks up the other half of her destroyed weapon.

 _He remembers holding it in his palm, looking at this strange collection of_ junk _that had no right to work. No right to the power it contained, much like its owner._

_“It would be fair…” he rotates it in his hand, looks at the glint of the hilt scoured by carbon. “If I kept this.” Because he can tells it matters to her, and he wants her to know what it feels like when someone takes away something that doesn’t belong to them._

He snaps his attention back to her, but her eyes are unfocused. As if they’re looking at something far away.

“I didn’t want to,” she finally confesses, stare darting to Soran’s prostrate form. “I never want to do any of it, but someone has to. And I’m all that’s left.” Rey shakes her head, and as though suddenly boneless, collapses on a patch of dead grass. “I’m all that’s left.”

He follows her, because he’s compelled to. Because there is a part of him that does not want to ever let her out of his sight again. Ben drops to a knee, still having to crouch down to meet her gaze.

“Let us help you.”

She lets out a scoff that sounds painful, and he notices that her eyes are starting to well up with tears. Ben reaches out to touch her cheek on impulse, and is surprised when she allows it. That she uncoils, just a little, at the contact. And it confirms his suspicions. She’s not just someone who saved his life. She’s something else. _They_ were something else.

“Tell me,” she exhales, and her voice is thick. “About your life.”

“It’s not much of a life.”

“Please.”

Ben frowns. Her hand rests on his. “I’m a mechanic.”

“What sort of mechanic.”

“Whatever Maz needs.”

“You’re…you’re from Takodana then?”

“No.” He watches her expression closely, but it doesn’t change. “Corellia.”

“Are you happy?”

Ben’s opposite hand flexes. “No.” And she winces. “I’m…bored. Stuck. I-“ And he doesn’t know why he’s telling her this, why his truths are falling from him as though suddenly all of his inhibitions are gone. “I want _more._ ”

“Like what.”

“Control.”

She breathes like a hiss.

“And I...” He clenches his hand. “I want to know why you left me.”

Her eyes widen. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been remembering,” he confesses, leaning forward. His forehead presses lightly against her own. “I remember your promise, and…and seeing you in the rain. And sleeping beside me. Whatever memories I have, they never take long to return to you.”

Neither of them say anything, his fingers move from her cheek into her hair. He knows without knowing that this is something he’s done before, that he’s let the brown strands wrap around his fingers.

“How were you able to call the lightning?” Rey asks, voice quiet.

“I don’t know.”

“Could you do it again?”

He feels compelled to be honest with her. “Yes.”

A pained expression crosses her face. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe,” she whispers. “You, and Finn-“

He tenses.

“-and Poe and Leia. Everyone. Whoever I can.” She looks up, and he sees something he doesn’t like in her expression. If he had to put a word to it, it would be resignation. Or fatigue. “…and that means doing things I would have never done before.” Her opposite hand comes to rest against his neck.

Ben feels something sink on his chest. Something dark, and unwelcome. “Who are you to me?”

Rey smiles, and it’s both beautiful and broken. “I’m no one.”

She leans forward, and shock registers when he realizes that she’s kissing him. Her lips are chapped, but soft, and they stir something in him that’s been ignored for a very long time. Eagerly, the hand in her hair buries deeper, his other going to her hip in a response that seems like a memory-

-and it’s over before it begins. She pulls back, resting her forehead against his.

“You’re going to forget I was here,” she murmurs. Ben’s hand falls from her waist. “You’re going to help Finn to safety, and then…” Her breath hitches. His fingers drop from her hair. “And then you’re going to go home, Ben. And stay there.”

His eyes shutter close. His body goes numb and pitches forward.

“Don’t leave,” he manages, a plea spoken into her shoulder.

He hears her whisper before it goes dark.

“I’m sorry.”

\--

Ben wakes up feeling like he’s been thrown through a window. His head is pounding, and it feels like there’s a burn in the middle of his hand, making the skin stretched and painful. He pushes himself up into a seat, head pressed against the back of his palm as he tries to orientate himself. The last thing he remembered was going into the botanical gardens and getting interrupted by a service droid-

-the garden around him is ruined. There’s shattered glass walls, patches of dead grass and trees. What looks like a blaster scoring on one of the benches. The air smells almost heavy, like it might after a thunderstorm. Ben’s lying in the middle of it.

And Finn is staring at him with a horrified expression.

“What the hell did you do?” He demands.

Ben frowns. His head pounds. He looks around, but there is only him, Finn, and a wide circle of dead plants around them.

“Nothing,” he manages. “I don’t remember.”

“Which is it?” Finn asks flatly. “Nothing or you don’t remember?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I-“

“Because I woke up on a bench,” Finn presses, “With my blaster still warm, like I had recently fired it, and a hole in the greenhouse.”

“Why do you think I had something to do with this?” He counters. “I don’t even have my blaster-“

And one of the pouches for his multikit is open. He frowns, going to pat it close when he feels a small lump in it. Carefully, he sneaks his fingers into the kit. They brush against something smooth and cool.

“I want answers _Ben._ ”

“I don’t have any,” he growls in a distant sort of way. His attention becomes focused on the object in his multikit, he slides it out.

A dark, purple crystal rests in his palm. He’s never seen it before.  
  
“Collecting rocks?” Finn mutters.

Ben clenches his fist around it instantly, not wanting Finn to look at it for some reason. With a scowl, he slides it back into his multikit. “Do you have a problem.”

“Yeah, I do. I woke up to a destroyed atrium and you sitting in the middle of it.”

Ben snorts. “I’m a mechanic.”

“Sure you are.”

He stands, and Finn stands with him. The two of them meeting eyes and glaring at each other.

“We’re reporting to Kes,” is all Finn offers. He waits for Ben to start walking out of the botanical garden, keeping his eyes trained on his back. “And you’re going along quietly.”

Ben snorts, lifting his hands in irritated surrender. But he doesn't make any protest beyond that. Something in him wants to make sure Finn gets back safely.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Soran's fighting style is drawn from the Shien reverse-grip style, practiced by Starkiller in the EU and Ahsoka Tano
> 
> -Rey vs. Soran's fight was heavily influenced by the [Hope cinematic trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQjBJJ34yWE) for SWKOTOR (Satele vs. Malgus)
> 
> -Soran's life-eating ability comes from [Darth Malak](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Darth_Malak), modified for Rule of Cool
> 
> -This chapter brought to you by listening to [I of the Storm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlCkafSYNJI) on loop
> 
> -This chapter was rude as hell and I'm sorry


	9. Kanjiklub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand we're back to kick off Act II, sorry for the hold-up everyone + thank you for being patient <3
> 
> also thank you everyone for the amazing comments on the last chapter-- sorry for the delay, i'll be replying to them all soon!!

\--  
**Rey.  
** \--

It took a year to build her lightsaber. She doesn’t remember it all, but some parts are clear enough. Spending four days soldering and setting the scrap metal from Luke’s old X-Wing into a hilt, her fingers trembling after hours of adjusting Leia’s delicate crystals. The affronted look BB-8 gave when she asked for one of its lenses (It was a bit creepy, in hindsight).

The first time Rey had to really build something, she made sure It wasn’t a rushed job—wasn’t _Jakku_. No, this was a careful, methodological process. The pieces were scavenged when they became available, and for the very first time, Rey took her time with it. There wasn’t a gnawing at her stomach, or a dust storm on the horizon. Unkar Plutt wasn’t about to send his boys after her if she was late delivering a component. Rey was used to waiting, but this was a new experience in patience. Luke never rushed her, Luke always made sure she was fed. He’d left her to her own process, or at least, he’d given her the space to figure out what her process was when nothing else was dictating it for her.

And when she ignited it for the first time, both their eyes had widened at the double, silver blades—the beam stead, the balance near-perfect in the palm of her hand.

 “Silver?” Luke had asked tacitly.

Rey had furrowed her brows. “Is that wrong?”

 “It’s flashy.”

Luke had smiled. It was the first time she ever got the distinct impression that someone was proud of her.

Now, almost five years later Rey stares at what’s left of the weapon on her makeshift workbench. The emitter’s gone, so are a few of the conductors. But that damage is nothing compared to the ruined crystal.  She bites down on her thumb, trying to keep the tears at bay as she surveys the wreckage Soran has made of the lightsaber that has become an extension of herself. The hilt split in half, the frayed wires.

And the socket holding the shattered and charred remnants of what was once one of Leia’s Alderaanian jewels.

The tears brim out over her eyes, and she feels warmth coating her cheeks. Rey knows how much the crystals meant to the general, a small piece of what was once her home planet. To lose one felt unforgiveable. Rey’s fingers trace over it and there’s some relief in that the other half of the crystal is still secure in the hilt. For a moment, she considers adjusting the hilt and fighting with only a single-bladed weapon, but in that modification lies danger. It would put her at less than her best, and her best would be necessary to reach Aalto and end this.

…She needs a replacement.

Rey leans back, a hand going to the crystal at her neck. Her thumbnail skids over the crack that divides it almost perfectly in half.

It’s broken already, she rationalizes. Splitting it up would make it stable.

But it’s…not hers. It’s his. It’s Kylo’s.

 _That’s your nature, isn’t it? Taking things that don’t belong to you. Taking away_ parts. _And leaving without a look back._

The memory settles in on her like rust. She closes her eyes and sees him staring back at her behind them. His hair different, with those small little braids on the top. His face without a scowl, and his relief at having found her, even though she knows those memories were taken from him.

Weren’t they?

The crystal grows warm against her fingers. Her hand feels clammy in contrast.

He said he…remembered rain. And sleeping beside her.

Rey swallows. Those memories didn’t belong to the mechanic from Takodana.   
Her thumb traces the seam of the crack again. Neither did the crystal.

He came there looking for her. With Finn. Her best friend, who had no idea about what happened with Aalto. And Jagomir.

But he had also shot Force lightning. And he would have killed with it.

_Are you happy?  
No._

The face she pictures changes, becoming a familiar mask.   
Kylo Ren was dead.

So Ben could live. She’d done the right thing. _You’re going to go home, Ben._

Rey lets out a slow breath, letting it hiss between her teeth. And with a quick motion, before she lost her nerve, she grabbed the cord around her neck and tugged it off. Opening her eyes, Rey gives another quick, calculated motion as she brings the end of her magwrench down on the cracked seam, splitting the red crystal fully in half. It falls apart easily, as if it were a relief to stop holding together.

Her hesitant fingers take part of the shattered thing and she places it into the empty socket of her weapon.

\--

An hour later, she’s nearly drifting off to sleep when a message lights up the screen of her datapad. Rey rolls onto her side, staring at it with confusion and wariness before she opens it.

It’s from an unlisted signal. But that doesn’t matter, Rey knows who it is.

[ _You should be somewhere else by now. Detour?_ ]

She replies quickly, compartmentalizing her anger. [ _Where are you?_ ]

There’s a moment, and he answers back. [ _I’ll let you know._ ]

[ _When._ ]

Silence stretches. Rey stares at her screen.

The final message alert chirps throughout the room.

[ _Once you figure out the real reason why you’re trying to find me :)_ ]

 

\--  
**Ben.  
\--  
  
** There’s a heavy rocking as _The Happabore_ begins its ascent from Naboo’s surface. Ben grimaces as the cruiser gives a nasty shake, his head smacking against the back of his seat. He goes to rub the new knot of pain, only to remember that there’s a set of metal restraints around his wrists. He glares down at them.  
****  
“This trip could have gone better,” he states.

Finn sits across from him and doesn’t say anything, his stare evaluating. Expecting. Ben doesn’t know what the man wants from him. Does he want Ben to attack him? There’s something in Finn’s expression that says he does. Like that would make something easier or clearer.

“We’re running,” Finn says levelly, “So you don’t get arrested by the Theed authorities for killing a professor.”

“By arresting me instead.”

“You’re not under arrest.”

“Just handcuffed.”

Finn, to his credit, looks uncomfortable at the situation. He drums his fingers along his biceps, staring at the roof of the tin can cruiser. “Kes’s idea, not mine.” He points a finger at him. “Not that I mind. Just. Not my idea.”

Ben grimaces, not wanting to think about how quickly Kes had slapped them on his wrists. Or steered him back to the cruiser, the color drained from his face. He knew he went against Kes’s orders, and that something obviously terrible had happened as a result, but he hadn’t been ready for… for whatever it was that Kes was doing now.

The older man hadn’t even talked to him about the occurrence. Just taken Finn’s word for it and stormed off to the cockpit of _The Happabore._

“I didn’t kill him,” Ben says flatly. Eyes trained ahead. He would know, he thinks, he would _know_ if he ever killed someone.

“Someone killed him. Sure looks like it was you.”

Ben snorts. “Of course. The wrench in the conservatory.”

Finn’s eyes narrow. “Just tell me what you did, then. I thought you wanted to help-“ He falls short and something flickers across his expression. “Forget it.” The soldier shakes his head. “Just get comfortable. We’ve got about 24 hours of flight time head of us.”

“Comfortable.” Ben sends a slow look around the interior of _The Happabore._ The exposed wires. The bare, metal benches. Finn’s expression darkens.

“Hey, it was on sale!”

Ben raises his eyebrows.

 _The Happabore_ makes one final jerk, and Ben cranes his neck to see the green-domed city of Theed fade into the atmosphere.

“…Where are we going?” He asks. Or rather, where are they taking him. It’s clear that whatever his fate was going to be, neither Kes nor Finn felt up to deciding it.

Finn’s lips press together. “The Resistance.”

Ben’s eyes widen. He’s never really thought of The Resistance as a _place._ “For what?”

“So someone more qualified can decide what to do about a dead, evil professor.”

“Like court.”

Finn touches his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Pretty sure typical legal action doesn’t apply here.”

Frustration builds up in Ben’s throat. “I thought the professor was a Knight of Rem?”

“ _Ren._ And he is.”

“So…” Ben knows what he’s about to say next is damning, but it’s an idea weighing on his mind that he needs to vocalize. “Why would anyone in the Resistance care if he’s dead?”

Finn sends him a look that he doesn’t know how to interpret. “It’s not that the guy’s dead, Ben.” He shifts, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s that you’re the one who killed him.”

Ben doesn’t know how to respond to that.

\--

Four hours into the flight, and Ben’s ready to launch himself out the airlock. _The Happabore_ is not a smooth ride, and although he’s been on worse junkers, it’s a special sort of hell to be unable to fix all the mistakes he hears. The rattle of a loose coupling. The hiss of a poorly vented cooling unit. It makes his fingers twitch.

Four hours in is also when Kes first emerges from the cockpit. The older man leans against the entryway to the sitting area, face looking grim but resigned. Ben stares up at him and Finn stays sitting silently.

“Autopilot’s entered,” Kes finally says after just. Staring.

“…good?” Finn ventures.

Ben doesn’t say anything. Only looks up at Kes, his friend, and wonders what made him run away from Naboo as fast as he had.

Kes jams his hands into the pockets of his pants. “So.” He works his jaw slightly. “What happened.”

Ben rotates his wrists. “Might have been a better question before abandoning the mission.”

Finn sends Kes a quick glance after Ben’s grumble, but Kes doesn’t acknowledge it as he continues. “Chatter on the comms confirms that there was an explosion in the gardens. And that Soran’s missed appointments.” He shifts, straightening his posture and suddenly looking younger. “How’d you do it.”

“I assume you have an answer.”

“Ben.”

He scowls. He’s not a child and he’s not a criminal. “I’m a mechanic.”

Kes stares at him for a long time. His next words are careful. “They found some scoring on the inside of the conservatory. They’re thinking some of the damage was a result of an electrical fire.”

Ben closes his eyes, and it flashes across them. A string of hot, electric purple- “Then maybe it was just an accident.”

“Blaster scoring, too. What do you remember.”

Ben is starting to hate that question. “I told you—I woke up on the ground. That’s it.”

Kes’s tone has an edge to it. “Better keep working on it.” He then sags, looking like the Kes that Ben knows, rubbing a hand down his face. He turns to Finn. “Auto-pilot’s set for the next 18 hours. Wake me up in six.”

Finn gives a small nod.

Kes walks forward, toward the bunks. When he stops in front of Ben, his arm raises for a moment, as if to rest his hand on Ben’s shoulder. But he doesn’t. Instead a brief, pained look crosses his expression and Kes exits.

Ben stares at the floor. Wondering why everyone’s so willing to believe that he did something impossible.

\--

Seven hours into the flight and Finn loosens his restraints so he can fix the ventilation system. Again.

The soldier looks surprised when, once he’s done, Ben merely offers up his wrists again with an eyeroll.

\--

Nine hours into the flight and there’s a lurch. A big one. Ben is in the middle of pacing the entryway of _The Happabore_ when it hits, the force enough to make him stumble. He grimaces when his bicep connects with a poorly riveted support pillar.

“I’m assuming the autopilot also failed.”

Finn frowns from where he’s been writing up something on his datapad—Ben guesses it’s a report (on him)—and gives a slow shake of his head. “That’s the only part that’s less than thirty years old.”

“What.”

Finn waves his hand dismissively, pushing himself into a stand. “I’ll check it out—stay here.”

Ben immediately follows close after him. Finn shoots him an annoyed stare before brushing back the curtain to the cockpit. A small part of Ben is darkly amused that the soldier has to look up to do so.

“Take two feet back, Bennie.”

“ _Bennie.”_

“You want those restraints off?”

He clenches his jaw and steps back.

Finn lets out a hiss between his teeth. “Unbelievable.”

Ben cranes his neck, trying to see the controls that Finn is shielding from him. Finn, obviously sensing Ben’s interest, ignores him, fingers dancing across a variety of switches and toggles. His body starts to tense.

Ben rolls his eyes upwards. “So.”

Finn visibly bites back a shorter retort, one hand flipping up the toggle Ben knows is for comms. “It’s not the autopilot.”

“Then what is it?”

He scowls. “A larger ship.”

Ben’s brows furrow. “Doing what.”

“Trying to connect to our airlock.”

There’s a long pause, as Ben connects some dots. His mouth parts slightly in pure disbelief. “…A ship’s. Trying to board our ship.”

Finn’s fingers fly across the console. Ben watches as he tries to jam the airlock. “Mhm.”

“Let me look.” Ben awkwardly outstretched a restrained hand-

-Finn smacks it away. Points a finger at him like he’s a misbehaving cat. “No.”

“It’s too bad we don’t have a mechanic,” Ben grits out, hand stinging, “Who worked repairing smuggler and pirate ships for three years.”

Finn tenses at the console. “One…two…three…”

“Why are you counting.”

“I’m counting to ten.”

“Because.”

“It’s what I’m trying to do before committing to a terrible plan.” He steps aside. “Kark it. Do your worst, _Bennie._ ”

He sends him a sour look, perhaps bumping him a little too hard on the shoulder as he moves to look at the console. He tries to type, the restraints…restraining his movements. He sends Finn a look, only to get one in response that says _no way in hell._ The cruiser gives another terrible lurch, and Ben pitches forward, whacking his head on a ceiling support beam.

“I’m burning this entire cruiser as soon as I get a chance,” he seethes, missing Finn’s side-eye look.

A few more keys, and a transponder code pops up in Aurabesh.

“Whoever’s trying to board us, they have….” The holoscreen flares red, “…A lot of warrants.” Another flare of red. “ _A lot_ of warrants.”

“Can you get an ID?”

Ben lifts his linked wrists up, pinching at one of the lines of code. The Aurabesh magnifies, filling up the screen. “I still don’t see why anyone would bother with this clunker-“

Finn’s eyes widen in disbelief at the name. “You’ll have to tell that to Kanjiklub.”

A long stretch of silence.

Ben presses his lips together tightly. “And what exactly is a Kanji Club supposed to be.”

Finn’s eyes darted from side to side as he reread the screen. “Get in the back and wake up Kes. I have an idea.”

“Take off my restraints.”

“No.”

\--

In the bunks, Ben’s first reaction is to grab Kes’s shoulder to shake him awake.

Kes’s first reaction is to go for his blaster. The man’s half asleep, but Ben barely has a moment to exhale before he feels the cold nuzzle of the weapon pressed underneath his chin.

Kes stares down at him from the top bunk, brown eyes alert. “And just what is it that you were trying to do.”

“Pirates are trying to board.”

The older man narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Pirates. Boarding.” Ben tries to tilt his head away from the gun. Kes just has it follow him.

“Pirates,” Kes echoes in disbelief. “On _this_ ship.”

“They’re a club, apparently.”

With a slow movement, one that Ben almost considers reluctant, Kes withdraws his blaster and holsters it. He looks at Ben, the restraints, and his face goes hard.

“What did you do to Finn.”

The question makes him take a half-step back. After a moment, Ben swallows and lifts up his wrists. “Nothing. I wouldn’t—nothing.”

“Then where is he.”

“In the entryway.” The corner of Ben’s mouth twitches with annoyance. “Apparently there’s an idea.”

Kes is silent for a moment. “Did he count to ten for it?”

“Yes.”

“Stang.”

\--

In less than ten minutes, there’s an explosion. Ben is pitched into the bunkbed’s frame, Kes to the floor.

“PLAN DIDN’T WORK!” They hear Finn yell. “IN FACT- NO, YEAH. THEY’RE DEFINITELY GOING TO BE BOARDING FASTER NOW.”

Kes sends a slow glance to Ben. Ben rubs the second knot on his forehead.

“How are you with a blaster?” Kes asks.

Ben rolls his tied wrists.

Kes frowns. But his hands move, sliding Ben’s small blaster pistol back into his holster.

“What are you doing.”

“Giving you a shot.” His callused thumbs glide around the restraints. There’s a pop, and they loosen before falling off. “Don’t waste it. Follow my lead if things get messy.”

Ben furrows his brows, but there’s not enough time to formulate a response before Kes walks out of the bunks and into the seating area. Ben follows.

And the seating area has become a crater.

Finn raises his hands up, and Ben can’t tell if he’s sheepish or not. “Tried to jam the hatch-“

“With a grenade?” Ben interrupts.

“- _turns_ _out_ the door’s the only thing stable on this cruiser.” Finn lowers his hands in favor of grabbing the heavy blaster he favors. He looks at Kes. “They might have guards.”

Kes grunts. “You run into them before?”

“Once.” Finn’s gaze goes distant, misty. “Rathtars. Don’t ask.”

Kes nods. His gaze also goes distant and misty. “Twice for me. Rontos and a planet full of space witches. Also don’t ask.”

“Deal.”

Ben grabs his blaster. Kes and Finn both shoot him a warning look.

“Follow Finn, got it? Then me.” Kes takes out a blaster pistol from his side holster.

He’s not in a hurry to get shot. “Fine.”

The pressure doors give a hiss of air before slowing sliding apart.

“Take another step and we shoot,” Finn says in a calm voice.

There’s a pause. One man in red comes out. His hair is long, hanging in a curtain over his shoulder.

In his hand is a thermal detonator. He slides his thumb over it.

“Huh,” Kes grunts. “Been awhile since I’ve seen that move.”

The man speaks. It takes Ben a second to translate the language in his mind—but he knows it. “Put down your guns or we blow up your embarrassing ship.”

“Rude,” Finn whispers.

“He’s not wrong,” Ben grunts.

“ _I will leave you on an asteroid,”_ Finn swears in an angry whisper.

The Kanjiklub representative stays where he is. In a few moments, a crowd of men follow behind him. They’re all in red, all armed—though only the first boarder has an explosive in his hand.

“Guns down, get on your knees, hands behind your head.” Says one with an impressive number of bumps in his nose—far too many breaks.

“I’m waiting to follow your lead,” Ben states flatly.

Kes, he can see, is doing a mental calculation. After a moment, he shrugs. “Their show for now.” He sets down his pistol, and gets on his knees.

Finn sighs, before shrugging off his holster and doing the same. Hoping that there’s a plan, Ben follows.

He watches as five pirates, six including the detonator man, board _The Happabore._ They go through the ship’s logs, bunks, supplies, but no one is more surprised than Ben when they don’t take anything.

The one with the ruined nose crouches in front of Kes. “This your ship?”

Kes dips his head. “I’m the pilot.”

The man cranes his neck, moving his face even closer to Kes’s. From the expression on Kes’s face, there’s a clear intent to headbutt the man. Potentially the source of all the broken noses. He squints until his eyes widen in happy recognition. “Kes Dameron.”

Kes rolls his eyes up. “So?”

Ben’s fingers twitch in his hair. The member of Kanjiklub shoots him a disdainful glare. Finn’s body language is calm, but he can see the way his eyes are darting around—finding an exit, maybe.

Broke-Nose smirks, slapping the chest of the guy behind him enthusiastically. The guy does not move. “There’s a bounty on you.”

“How much.”

“2,000 credits.”

“Eh.”

“Along with a 10,000 credit addition for bringing in one of your companions.” Broke-Nose turns his attention to Ben and Finn, sending them each an assessing look. Eventually his eyes drift back to Ben. His brows furrow. “Search him.”

Ben grits his teeth, annoyed. “You won’t find ten thousand credits.”

His guard sends a quick punch to the small of his back, and it’s enough to get him to lurch forward. The guard makes quick work of patting him down. He searches the waistband holding his multikit, reaches into one of his compartments-

Ben goes cold.

The guard snorts as he withdraws, what he found in hand. “Just a rock.”

_She hunches in front of the crystal formation, the purple light emitting from them a halo in the otherwise darkened cave. It glows on her skin, chasing after her profile and pooling on top of the scar that sits in a near perfect circle above her collarbone. It matches the scar on his own chest. He’d almost lost her._

_He moves closer despite his better judgement—closer to the light, but more importantly, closer to her. His fingers curl, the leather of his gloves making a strained noise. Not for the first time, he_ wants.

_“I’m tired of wasting time,” he manages._

_Her attention does not stray from the crystal. Her neck stretches to rest her chin in her hand, and his eyes can only follow the motion. Frustration boils somewhere within him. He loves her, and she won’t even look at him._

The violet crystal looks dimmer in the pirate’s hand. Smaller. Fragile. Ben’s mouth goes dry, his pulse erratic. He feels something angry and electric slither down his spine.

“That belongs to me!” He snarls.

The guard raises both his brows. Sensing his anger, he grins before tossing it haphazardly between his hands. The crystal flares with each pass. Faster and faster. Ben coils in his kneeling position like something about to strike.

“Ben-” Finn says warily.

“Ben,” Broke-Nose echoes his name with a stretch, taking his time with that single syllable. “Benben _ben._ ” His mouth breaks into a smile. “10,000 credits for Ben Organa!”

What happens next is too fast for him to process all at once. When he thinks back on this moment, he’ll be able to see it better. It starts with Kes slamming his head forward, cracking Broke-Nose’s nose. Then Finn’s dropping down, reaching for his blaster. Ben doesn’t have time to think as his arm comes out, grabbing the magwrench from his multikit and swinging it with all the force he can manage underneath the chin of his guard.

The guard’s head snaps back. The crystal drops to the floor. Ben goes to pick it up, but something _tugs_ on the edges of his senses. He snaps his head up to look at Finn.

Finn’s fingers are stretching toward his blaster. But one of the Kanjiklub is already aiming at his back. Ben watches as Finn scuttles across the floor, pushing himself into a stand. He meets Ben’s gaze-

_-and his face fixes into a determined scowl. Blue light bathes his face as he raises a lightsaber in front of him._

_“Come and get it!”_

Cold realization flashes across Finn’s eyes. Ben could do nothing. He could let Finn be shot in that moment, and it wouldn’t be his fault.

_You’re going to help Finn to safety._

With a violent motion, Ben throws out his arm.

The man aiming his blaster at Finn falls down, jerked around the torso by some invisible wire. Ben doesn’t think about it, because for a moment everything feels as natural as breathing. He extends his other arm, the one still holding the wrench, and the man holding the detonator rises to the tips of his toes—pulled upwards like a puppet. He has a moment to look panicked before Ben flexes his fingers into his palm and the pirate goes flying into a nearby support beam, his head making a sick and echoing sound as it connects to the metal.

Ben pivots-

There’s the sound of four rapid, near-silent shots. The remaining Kanjiklub members fall to the ground and Kes grimly holsters his sidearm with the speed in which he withdrew it.

The crew of _The Happabore_ look at each other, then the bodies on the ground.

Ben feels his own senses return to him. And something twists in him when he lowers his hands down. The wrench clatters to the ground with a tinny echo. Because he doesn’t know what else to do, he bends to a knee and picks up the purple crystal and his multikit, buckling it back around his waist. Ben swallows, looking at Finn and Kes. They wear mirroring flat expressions, although there is something unsettling in the way that Finn is watching him.

“Neither of you,” he finally manages, “Look surprised.”

Finn tilts his head. “You didn’t let me die,” he mutters. “Trust me, I’m surprised.”

Ben looks at Kes. Kes, who just took out four pirates before he could blink. “…You’re not retired.”

Kes shakes his head. His fingers tighten on the hilt of his blaster. “I’m enlisted.”

“With the Resistance.”

“Yes.”

“General Organa.”

Kes’s hard face somehow grows sterner. “…yes.”

_10,000 credits for Ben Organa_

Ben slowly raises his fingers to his chest, parts his shirt. The tips of them trace over the old scar—waxy, a perfect circle.

“Talk,” he finally manages.

Kes shakes his head. “First, we kick the pirates out of the van. Then we’re going to the Resistance base. You can talk there.”

“And where is the Resistance?” He bites out.

Finn’s voice interrupts before Kes can brush him off. “Tatooine.”

Ben fixes him with a hollow look, his mind somewhere else. Somewhere in the snow.

 _Jedi,_ he thinks. Finn's a Jedi.  
And they've met before.


	10. Leia (part i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was starting to get mega long so it's now a split chapter! Next chapter hopefully soon to follow. Thank you so much for your comments on the last one y'all, it really is what keeps me going <3
> 
> ALSO THERE'S NEW ART FOR THIS FIC!!! The fabulous [NeitiCora](http://neiticora.tumblr.com) has drawn the Aalto + Rey scene from chapter two :D [LOOK AT AALTO EVERYONE!!!!](http://neiticora.tumblr.com/post/145970463166/stars-dont-come-down-by-gizkasparadise-rey)

\--  
**Rey.  
** \--

_She always loved the ruins. Here, in the grey-wash of her dreams, she finds that familiar sense of comfort in them. It’s something like home, resting in the skeletons of old monuments. Her fingers trail over what’s left of the stone walls, the tips of them tracing the edgings of a language long gone. She spent one of her summers on the island trying to make a cipher for it. Didn’t work._

_Even though it’s a dream, she takes in a deep breath through her nose. The tang of saltwater and damp, murky sent of the moss-covered rock filling her senses. It seems so_ real, _as if she just took a step backward into the past. She’d almost believe it, if it wasn’t for the new scars and shorter hair. This place hasn’t changed, but she has._

_“Do you know why I only see you here?” She doesn’t look away from the rock._

_“I think it’s where I went,” Luke answers behind her._

_He takes a step closer, until they are side-by-side. Then her mentor sits on a half-wall, some of the stones that make it crumbling away underneath him. “Rey, I need you to do something for me.”_

_She ignores his second sentence to focus on the first. “What do you mean, where you went?”_

_“After…” Rey turns to see his grey brows knit together in confusion. “After.”_

_She breathes in again. Suddenly the air doesn’t taste like the sea—instead it’s iron and dry. Rusted. She hears the wind on Moraband whistle in her ears._

_“Rey.”_

_Her fingers reluctantly leave the ruins. She moves to kneel in front of Luke. He rests his hand on her cheek. She doesn’t feel it._

_“I need you to do something.”_

_Rey bites down on her lip. “You don’t have to ask.”_

_“I do.” His expression goes soft. Sad. “I need you to let me go, Rey.”_

_She squeezes her eyes close. “Why?” Comes out on a hitch in her breath._

_“Because this isn’t the way for you.” He slides from his seat so he can kneel next to her in the grass. His hand shifts to wrap around her shoulders, to pull her in close. “I know what lies ahead, and I don’t want your life to be restless.”_

_“I’m not-“ She presses her forehead against his chest. It’s like moving through air. “I_ can’t _do that, Luke.”_

_“Why not.”_

_“Because I love you.”_

_“Thank you,” he says with a quiet sincerity that cuts. “But you love others that need you now.”_

_“What about you,” she asks, suddenly feeling like a child again. One that’s staring up at the sky as someone leaves her._

_Luke’s fingers thread through her hair, and this time she feels their phantom movements. “Have I ever told you about Dagobah?”_

_She doesn’t understand the change in topic, so she just follows it. “Once. The cave?”_

_“Yeah. The cave.” He shakes his head. “I made another choice that day. One that changed things. You’ll make a choice there too.”_

_“And what should my choice be?”_

_She’s watching his face carefully, and so she doesn’t miss the tears when they well up in his eyes._

_“To say goodbye to an old man…” he starts. His form starts to fall away at the edges, as though something is dissolving him in the air. Rey’s heart jumps to her throat—knowing,_ knowing _that this will be the last time she will see him here._

_“No!” She cries, trying to reach for something that isn’t there._

_“…and to let yourself be happy.”_

_“Luke-!”_

\--

She wakes up alone.

 

 

\--  
**Ben.  
** \--

Tatooine’s a pit stain on the galaxy. There’s not much left of _The Happabore_ after Kanjiklub, and the poorly sealed door lets in a blast of hot air as soon as their external shields drop. Instantly, Ben feels sweat bead on his forehead and his mouth go dry.

He hates the desert.

Finn has been quiet ever since they cleared the bodies from the ship, but he’s caught him staring from time to time. Ben isn’t sure what he wants out of the quiet Finn’s created, doesn’t know how to handle the mess of emotions he can sense the soldier sending his way.

But soldier’s not right, is it.

No. _Jedi._ Like-

He frowns.

 _The Happabore_ lurches, letting out one long and rankling note of steam as it decompresses to the ground. This ship, this _planet_ already feel like an itch under his skin. Splinters that he wants to purge from his body.

_Ben Organa._

The name circles around him again. Despite his better judgement, his mind’s been working through hypotheticals, realities. Organa is not a common name, after all.

 _The Happabore_ sputters to death just as Kes walks out of the cockpit.

“You’re going to need new power converters,” Ben flatly informs the opposite wall.

Kes runs a hand through his hair, tired. “We’ll have to go to Tosche Station for that.”

He presses his lips together. Backwater planet without the water. Naturally.

Kes’s stare is heavy. “I comm’d the base. Let’s get this over with.”

\--

When the cruiser door literally falls off, the first thing that greets them is a blast of heat and sand. Ben scowls, adjusting the scarf around his neck to cover the lower half of his fact—Finn and Kes doing the same beside him.

The second thing to greet them is an ancient protocol droid.

“Master Finn, Master Dameron—a pleasure as always!” It greets. It might be gold, but it’s hard to tell with all the built-up dust settling on it. As they hop off the shuttle, its illuminated, circular eyes rest on him. “And Master Organa, it has been quite some time--!” It starts.

Ben walks past him.

“Master Organa, I really must insist that you allow me to escort you to the waiting area!”

He pivots. “Waiting area?”

The droid looks at him, then swivels at the waist to look at Kes. “You were requesting an audience with General Organa, yes?”

Ben sends him a slow look.

Kes nods. “That was the idea, yeah.”

The droid dips a bit, a straight sort of nod. “Arrangements are being processed, though the General requested I relay that a notifying comm would have been appreciated.”

“I gave one-“

“A minute or two before landing, she specified.”

“Right. Anything else?”

“Master Finn is wanted for debriefing in Barrack 84 as soon as possible.”

At the sound of his name, Finn snaps out of his stupor for the first time. He shakes his head and wayward thoughts off, stepping forward. “Yeah. I’ll get to that.”

He sends Ben a look. One that tells Ben he’s thinking about the encounter with Kanjiklub. Finn doesn’t say anything, but he does give him a slow, hesitant clap on the shoulder before he leaves.

Ben stares after him, confused but not necessarily in a bad way.

Kes clears his throat. “The General’s fair,” is all he offers. “Follow me, I’ll take you to the guest quarters.”

Ben looks around at the barren desert before him. The only thing that breaks it up is the smattering of clay huts. _This_ is the Resistance he’s heard so much about.

“C’mon kid,” Kes says in a lower, softer tone.

Finally, Ben nods.

\--

Kes leads him to the outskirts of the base, to a squat hut with little protection from the elements. As soon as Ben walks in, he and the protocol droid make their own exit. Leaving nothing but Ben, a modest-looking home, and what might be the worst silence of his life.

\--

By the time the wooden door to the hut opens he feels like he’s been staring at it for hours. The sun is a harsh silhouette around the edges of the frame, blocked only by the small figure standing in the threshold.

The General.

Already this feels different than the countless visits she paid him on Takodana. Those had been short, terse. Even when she had insisted on staying for a meal or discussion with him, there had been an aura of reserve around her, a stiffness to her back and a tenseness in her shoulders.

He doesn’t know what he expected from this meeting, but it wasn’t Leia Organa holding a carafe of wine.

“I’m going to need a few minutes,” she says quietly as she takes the clay steps down to the table. The wine has a sweat on it from the heat outside, and there’s a dripping bucket of ice with two glasses is in the other. “So I figured we might as well have a glass.”

“I don’t drink.” He doesn’t try to stop the clipped tone.

She sends him a look of flickering disbelief before she shakes her head and takes the seat across from him. Without a word, she pours two glasses, keeping them both on her side of the table. “Then let me know when you change your mind.”

He watches as her fingers wrap around the glass—made out of ceramic, with a chip in the rim. The General isn’t tense. Instead she’s boneless, face almost grey in the dimness of the hut. He _looks_ at her as she sits, trying to find something in her face. A part that lines up, that looks familiar in the mirror. After a long evaluation that the General endures patiently, he comes to the decision that it might be their eyes. Could be. It’s hard to tell, hard to find himself in the bones of a stranger.

Or maybe it’s the chin.  
Or maybe there’s nothing at all.

“Ben.” For the first time, the General looks soft. “How should we do this?”

He sits across the table from her, his legs too long to fit under it, his fingers curling where they rest in front of him. For the last three years, all he’s wanted are answers. To know who he was, what he left behind. Now they’re sitting right in front of him and all he feels is…

Empty.

Not angry. Just cold. “Why don’t we start,” he looks up, not even trying to hide his hostility, “with my name.”

She lightly closes her eyes, and takes a small nod before drinking from her cup. “Alright.” She takes another sip, and an inhale loud enough for Ben to hear, before she opens her eyes again. “Your name is Ben Organa.” There’s the smallest quiver to her chin—so small he would not have seen it if he was not intently searching her features for his own. “And you are my son.”

Every system in his body goes still. He can’t hear or process anything—not the air leaving in and out of his lungs or the blood in his ears. Instead, he keeps looking at her face. Trying to find him in it. Eyes. Chin. Hair, maybe.

The General is staring straight back at him. Whatever she sees in his expression, it causes her to take another drink from her glass.

“…you take after your father,” she finally whispers, solving his unspoken problem for him.

_Green wire’s connected to the blue wire. Blue wire’s connected to the red wire!_

“The mechanic.”

“When he had to be.”

Ben can feel the strain in his neck from how tightly he is holding his jaw. There is an instinct—fast and _furious_ —that he barely stops to throw her wine at the nearest wall. To flip over the table. His legs begin to shake from the desire to act out this nameless, poisonous thing building in the rush of his pulse and the coldness in his stomach.

“You lied to me.”

“I did.” Her lips are a tight line.

“ _Why._ ”

The General presses against the back of her chair, as if trying to fall into it. He thinks she is not one to ever try to fade into the background, and there’s a bitter pleasure at the gesture. She takes her time figuring out her answer, weighing it in her mind and he remembers the newsreels about how Leia Organa was a Senator before she was ever a General.

“I don’t know,” she presses forward before he can snarl, “ _I don’t know._ The medics recommended you go to an isolated facility on Mon Calamari. Instead, I kept you on Takodana.”

The cold tightens into something worse. Something about to tip over restraint. “That’s not good enough.”

Her chin juts anger—chin, same chin—but he sees her pull it back. Smother it like a blanket over a fire. “I did what I could.”

He slams his fist against the table. “Liar!”

Instead of flinching, she bristles. She takes a steadying breath before she speaks again, every word calm. “Everything that happened was to give you a second chance. I want you to know that.”

He scoffs. “A second chance at what _._ You let me think I was-“ He swallows. “You let me think I was _abandoned_. For three years.”

“You weren’t abandoned.” There’s a raw edge to her words now, something much older than whatever is being discussed in this room. “I came whenever I could. You were with friends.”

“Your friends.”

“Yes.”

“Like who.”

She meets his stare. Her eyes are red rimmed but there is strength behind her gaze. A sternness that recalls something distant. “Maz. And one of our best agents.”

It connects like two old couplings.  He thinks about leather jackets and old blasters. Losing at cards and drinking lukewarm ale at the cantina. “Kes,” he realizes darkly.

“Yes.”

“Anyone else.”

“No.”

“They were there to watch me.”

“Protect you,” she corrects with a gentle desperation.

He stares at the table. “What about…”

_You’re going to go home, Ben._

“What about Rey.”

The General’s face goes expressionless for a moment, a careful and neutral mask that already sends a bolt of anger racing up his spine. “The Jedi,” she offers.

“You know her,” he says with absolute certainty, the cold in him daring her to contradict it.

“Yes,” she leans forward. “She was your Uncle Luke’s student.”

_He sees it like a flash across his eyes. Sitting in a jungle, small and white stones moving in shaking circles above his palm._

_“It’s working!”_

_“Almost, keep trying Ben-“_

“Uncle,” he repeats tonelessly.

“He’s…” Her hand trembles, just for a moment, where it grips the cup. “Gone, now.”

“He was a Jedi.”

“Yes.”

Like Finn. Like Rey.

Like…

“Tell me about her,” he commands in a voice deeper than his usual one. Insistent.

The General frowns. “Why.”

 _Her hair plastered to her neck in the rain_  
_Her head tucked underneath his chin_  
 _He loves her, and she won’t even look at him_

“I remember her. More than anyone else.”

The General only stares at him. He can’t decipher her carefully controlled look.

“ _Tell me._ ”

“She was assigned as protection detail for your corps of engineers.”

“So I see I’m still a mechanic,” he says through his teeth.

“You were,” she replies curtly. “With the Resistance. You were repairing the shield generators. There was an accident when the First Order fired, and you lost your memory. Rey brought you to Maz.”

“Before that.”

“I don’t know.”

The General’s lying. She takes a drink of her wine.

He thinks about the moment in the warehouse. Her fingers on his cheek. “Were we together?”

A short, muted cough escapes the General’s throat. She keeps drinking despite it. “No,” she manages once she’s done. “You barely knew each other.”

_He loves her_

Lying again. Lying about Rey whenever she comes up.

Ben must give something away in his expression, because the General shifts in her seat. “Ben…”

“Tell me about before the accident,” he cuts off. Whatever it is that happened, it started there. And if the General won’t give him the answers he wants, he’ll find them out for himself.

The General looks down at her cup. Her voice is polished and steady. “You worked with Luke for a year after he came back.”

“Back from where.”

“Hiding.”

“Why was he hiding.”

“One thing at a time.” Her brown eyes (his eyes) flicker up to him. “Alright? Just…” She shakes her head, looking tired. “ _Please._ Just let me do this one thing at a time and I promise I’ll answer what I can.”

She’s already broken that promise, but he curbs his tongue. The General waits, anticipating another outburst or interruption, but when it doesn’t come she continues. “You were enlisted as a mechanical engineer with the Resistance.”

“How old am I?”

She pauses in thought. “Thirty-four.”

After a moment, he nods.

The General refills her glass. “The accident nearly killed you. Rey brought you to Takodana.”

“What did she say to you.”

A pained expression crosses her face. “Nothing. I didn’t get to see her before she disappeared.”

That, at least, seems honest.

The General continues, “For a while, we didn’t think you would survive. But you did.” Her hand moves, as if to reach out for his hand. But she stops it and he doesn’t encourage her to start again. “Without your memories. The doctors that didn’t want to ship you off to Mon Calamari thought giving you a routine would help.” A wry, bitter smile twists her lips. “Three years of routine.” She takes a drink. “What else do you want to know?”

“Where’s Rey.”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you looking for her.”

“We did at first.” The General closes her eyes. “What do you remember about her?”

He glares. She watches him with a knowing expression on her face. He hates it, and a vicious and petty thing blooms in his mind and on his tongue. He speaks with the intent to hurt.

“How could you do it?” Ben crosses his arms over his stomach. “How could you question me on Takodana when you knew who I was the whole time?”

“Ben-“

“When I was your son. _How._ ”

There is a break in her voice. “Because I loved you too much to help you remember.”

His brows furrow. “And what does that mean.”

“I made a decision,” she says, pushing back her chair. “Maybe it wasn’t the right one. But I’ve only tried to help you, Ben.”

“Help me with _what_?” He snarls.

“Yourself.”

He sends her an incredulous look. “Myself,” he echoes. Once again his voice drops lower, a darkness entering his words. “And what, General, is it that I would have to be afraid of?”

The General hesitates before answering. Her thoughts are a mystery to him, but he doesn’t doubt she’s thinking them. Instead she sighs. “Alright, Ben. If you want know-“

He doesn’t hear her. Instead, darkness creeps into the sides of his vision. He feels a sharp twinge in his stomach, then a muted pain.

“Ben?” The General starts to push into a stand.

The throb spikes, Ben hunches over with a groan. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his palm against his abdomen. His stomach feels warm.

“Ben!” Distantly, the sound of a chair being knocked over.

 He opens his eyes and pulls his hand away.

Red coats his palm, his fingers.

Blood. His blood. How?

The throb spikes again—this time a brilliant white flash crossing his vision.

“BEN!”

His head bobs, before it finally slumps over and the upper half of his body collapses on the table.


	11. Leia (part ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the comments on the last chapter & have fun with this one :'D

\--  
**Ben.**  
\--

_He’s lying on the ground. The side of his cheek is pressed into mud, every nerve of his body screaming out in pain. Helpless._

_And he’s not alone._

_Rey’s on her side across from him; their chests rising and falling in the same shallow movements. Her arm lies out in front of her, her palm up._

_He uses the rest of his strength to stretch until his fingers brush against hers. The movement is feather light, before he grabs her hand in desperation. It is cold and clammy in his hold. He brings it to his chest._

_“Don’t,” he pleads._

_Her lips twitch into a weak smile. “You always say that,” she whispers._

_Behind her, he sees a flare of red._

_Her eyes slide close.  
And Ben drifts._

\--

He wakes up slowly, body adjusting into consciousness. His limbs feel heavy and numb, deadened. And there is an intense pain in his abdomen that makes him unable to take in deep breaths. It’s a jagged thing, from rib to rib. It’s a wound that lies deep within his stomach.

Ben swallows, his mouth dry and tasting of the sand in the air. He takes a moment to situate his bearings enough to attempt opening his eyes.

His head pounds. His gaze darts to the side. There’s a medical droid beside him, it’s spindly limbs making light clacks as it moves between the machines that frame his bed. Ben’s eyes unfocus, sliding in different directions for a moment before he wills his vision to center again.

Ben grimaces against the pain of the migraine, looking beyond the medical droid.

There’s another bed with machines around it. Ben apparently has company. Another patient.

The man next to him is older. Grey, wiry hair is long enough to reach his shoulders—a compliment to the thick beard that covers his chin and cheeks. His face is drawn, brows furrowed and there is nothing of peace about him even though he sleeps. The fellow patient has a visitor-- another man sitting next to his bedside, his back turned toward Ben so he can only see black and grey-streaked hair. He talks to the man in the bed, though Ben can’t understand the words.

The med droid clicks something. And Ben’s head slumps back into the pillow.

\--

_It’s damp. The cool moisture in the air a welcome break from the overbearing heat of Tatooine. Ben stands, making a slow turn as he takes in his surroundings._

_It’s the top of a cliff, the grass vibrantly green against the grey of the sky and the blues of the ocean that surrounds them._

_On the horizon, overlooking the sea, he sees a hooded figure clad all in white._

_“Take better care of it, this time," the robed figure says._

_Ben opens his mouth to ask what it is he’s supposed to take care of, but light breaks across them—bright and blinding, and he squeezes his eyes closed-_

\--

There’s voices.

“Tell me one more time,” comes the General with brittle words.

“He used it, there’s no doubt. Threw a man against the wall-“ Kes.

“And saved my life.” Finn.

Kes snorts-

“He didn’t have to,” Finn presses, “I could see him make the decision.”

“What about Soran?”

“We don’t know. There wasn’t a body-“

Ben lets out a low hiss between his teeth. His stomach still hurts, but he can take deeper breaths now.

“General,” Finn whispers, “…What happened to him.”

There’s no response.

There’s a break in Finn’s voice. “Then that means Rey-“

No one finishes the sentence for him.

Ben tries to speak, but his throat is sore.

So instead, he lets go again.

\--

There is one final voice that breaks through his thoughts in the dark. Unfamiliar.

 _You were taken. Complacent for far too long._  
_Find your chains._  
_And **break** them._

_\--_

When he wakes for the third time, his stomach pain has been lessened to the ache of an old bruise. His head feels clearer, and it occurs to him that they might have drugged him while he was recovering. Anger flares at that—he’s never been afraid of pain, and with everything that’s been happening he needs his thoughts clear.

“Impressive scar.”

He opens his eyes at the sound. It takes a moment to orientate. A med bay—a little run down, a little out of date. Ben’s stare gradually focuses on the man who’s spoken to him.

It’s the person from beside the bed, with black hair that’s streaked grey at the temples. He has a narrow, angular face, hard brown eyes, and a stern mouth. Ben’s gaze darts to where the other man was lying, but the bed is empty.

“Which one,” he manages, voice coming out as a croak.

The man doesn’t specify, so Ben turns back to face him. His expression is grave, tight, and _angry_ in a way that Ben is growing accustomed to. He leans against the doorframe, his clothes civilian but his posture military.

“They say you lost your memory,” he says, though it sounds like he doesn’t believe it.

Ben frowns. “Should I know you?”

The older man takes a moment to process the question before he scoffs. “No, I guess you shouldn’t.” His eyes drift from the scar that cuts across his face and part of his shoulder, to the clustered scar against the side of his abdomen—part of it peeks out above the bandages wrapped around his midsection. Ben doesn’t know how he got that one, either. Probably another generator explosion, he thinks unkindly.

“Someone got a good shot in,” he observes. A look of shrewdness enters his eyes. “Almost looks like a bowcaster hit.”

“A what?”

“Crossbow. Used by the Wookies.” The man stares, waiting for something.

Ben shifts a shoulder, hearing his spine cackle with the movement. “Are you with the General?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here.”

“Had someone to see.” His jaw clenches for a moment. “And I guess I was curious.”

“About me.”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“You’ve hurt people,” he says flatly. “People important to me. Maybe I was here trying to find forgiveness.”

Ben looks at the man—at his far from kind expression, the tight corners of his eyes and the lines that stem from them. For a moment, he can see him younger—hair full black, clothes a bright orange flightsuit.

“Who are you?” He manages, the surface of a memory beating against his skull.

The man shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t be seeing me again.”

Before Ben can ask another question, he turns and leaves without a look back. Ben watches, with his breath releasing in a way that makes his entire upper body slump forward.

\--

Ben tries to make sense of his stomach wound.

It’s almost parallel to the one the man had commented on ( _bowcaster_ , he tries the word again in his thoughts), and when he lifts the bandage he sees a jagged line—like something from a cheap knife. It’s going to leave a scar.

 _He looks at the mess of her thigh, how teeth have made a shredded mess of her skin. The edges of the wound are puffed up and yellow—clearly infected._ Poison, _she had muttered. He remembers._

_His eyes slowly move from her thigh to her face. Her cheeks are flushed red, sweat making tendrils of her hair cling to her skin. Her lips are parted slightly, an attempt to get more air into her lungs._

_He could just sit back.  
Wait until the poison does its work. Watch her die._

_The thought is there long enough to be briefly entertained, but she gives a whimper and the idea leaves. Letting her die isn’t the same as defeating her, he rationalizes. It’s no test of either of their strengths. And he wants…_

_His lips press together. He’s wanted to stop being alone, even if company comes with the face of an enemy. And if Rey has to die, at some point, he wants to be the one responsible. Not some swampwater beast._

_Slowly, he takes off his glove. The skin is cut and mangled, and he knows nothing of first aid aside from what it took to keep going after a training session. His fingers ghost over the wound, and he splays them out wide—his hand is big enough to cover most of her thigh._

_“Don’t die yet, scavenger,” he mutters, closing his eyes._

_It has been years since he’s attempted to heal with the Force. And he knows this isn’t going to look pretty._

Ben’s mouth goes dry at the memory. Rey…he had-

The door to the medcenter opens. And he’s surprised to see Finn standing there.

“Hey,” the liar greets neutrally. There is a wariness about him, and something about his expression speaks to the exhaustion brought about by anxiety.

Ben slowly peels back the bandage to cover his midsection once more. “What happened?”

Finn’s arms tense. “Are you…feeling okay?”

It’s an unexpected question. Ben experimentally takes stock of his body. The pain is there, a low throb that aches with every movement. He knows if he attempted to stand up, it would be worse.

“I’ll live.”

Finn almost looks wounded. Ben scowls at the reaction, but before he can say anything, Finn speaks first. “Good. I’m glad.”

“What.”

“I never thought I’d say it.” Finn looks up and down at the medical equipment. The next words slip out. “Rey might be okay, too.”

Something makes Ben feel very, very cold. He thinks about the dream—the two of them laying in the mud, the flare of red-

“Why wouldn’t she be okay.”

Finn shakes his head. “I’m not talking to you about this.”

Next to him, a machine starts to beep faster. “Talk about _what._ ”

“It’s bad, alright?” Finn’s voice gets a dangerous edge that Ben would have never thought him capable of. “It’s _bad_ and I’m not going to be the one who-“

 _He feels it when she gets shot. When his wound ricochets onto her. Rey’s breath leaves her lungs, her body drops to its knees. There is no one around but_ him, _and Rey presses her fingers to her chest and they leave with blood on them-_

The machines start to shake.

“Ben!” Finn barks in warning. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t matter.

 _-he’s treated by droids, and she’s left_ alone. **Alone** _and there’s nothing he can do to stop it-_

The machine nearest to him sparks, lifts from the ground.

“Damn it— _Ben_!”

_She’s dying on the ground of the temple. Abandoned. Her fingers reach out to his-_

“You left her alone!” He yells at the stranger who shares his memories. At the man who watched her dying and didn’t do anything to stop it. A machine pitches forward to slam against the opposite wall of the medcenter.  Another. Another.

“She left us first!” Finn shouts back, and there’s years of pain in the statement. Hurt. “But you’re the only one who can find her _so stop throwing shit!”_

One more machine pitches forward. It explodes just as armed guards show up. They’re wearing drab green flightsuits, blasters in both of their hands. It doesn’t take long for them to see the wreckage and point them at Ben.

He glares right into the barrels of them. Anger curling through every one of his muscles. _Try it,_ he thinks. _Try and stop me-_

“Put those down!” Finn barks, swatting the barrels with the palm of his hand. “I got this!”

The guards look at Finn, Ben, and the smoking, ruined machinery. “Sir-“

“ _Go,”_ he bites out. “Get the General.”

The guards look at each other. One of them nods. “Sir,” he says in parting, before they turn and leave the room.

Ben’s chest heaves up and down. His stomach aches, and he feels a warm dampness over his gut that indicates he’s torn the wound open.

“Are you good now?” Finn demands, turning his attention back to him. His eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. “Or is there another explosion you want to make?”

His fingers dig into the mattress on either side of his hips. His heart pounds in his chest, his head is screaming.

_Find your chains. And **break them.**_

He grimaces. Pushes back the voice. “What’s happened to Rey?”

Finn must see the change come over Ben because the tension in his shoulders unwinds slightly. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know how all this Force stuff works-“

“Liar,” Ben croaks.

“Excuse me?” Finn counters with an edge.

“I saw you. In the snow-“ Finn goes still. “-You were holding a lightsaber.”

“What else.”

Ben’s brows furrow. “I don’t know.”

The silence grows and tightens.

“We’d better wait,” Finn decides, “Until the General gets here.”

Ben has nothing to say to that. His mind keeps circling back to one image—Rey laying on the ground, alone.

\--

The first thing the General does is walk to his bedside. Her hands rest on each of his cheeks, and when she brings her forehead down to his, he flinches. She either doesn’t notice or care, and Ben sits tensely for her to step away from him.

“Are you alright?” She asks.

“You lied again.”

“I always have enough reasons,” she says in a tone that is distinctly unhappy. “Tell me what happened.”

“You and the other liar probably have a better idea.”

The General frowns. Finn clears his throat from where he stands behind her.

“He means me.”

Her frown lessens but doesn’t entirely go away. With a reluctant movement she pulls back from him and instead situates herself in the chair by his bedside. “We think Rey was hurt,” she begins very diplomatically.

“What do you know,” he demands.

The General’s eyes go soft. “Almost nothing. I wish we had more.”

Ben glares at her. “That’s not good enough.”

“I know.”

Finn is silent, but Ben looks up to see that his stare is trained on him. Ben returns it, jaw clenching.

“Tell us what happened,” the General prompts, “And I’ll help.”

He slams his fist into the mattress when the frustration finally boils over and he needs an outlet for it. There’s a dull thud, and so he repeats it again with more force. “Rey was shot in the chest.”

Finn pales, his exhale releasing a quiet “no” before Ben continues.

“Not this time. Before.” He stares straight at the General, the woman with so many secrets. The biggest and most dangerous of which, he is beginning to suspect, is him. “What happened before.”

The General stares at him until her focus goes distant. Whatever it is that she’s about to say, it’s taken her some time to arrive at a decision on it. “I can only tell you what I know.”

“Fine.”

A look of pain crosses her face. “You are my son,” she tells him again. A reminder.

He tenses.

“And you were a Jedi.”

\--

He listens.

She tells him about a school in the jungle, Yavin IV. The realization of her brother—his uncle’s—dream. Where Luke Skywalker instructed him since he was young, taught him the ways of the Force and the Jedi ways. How all that failed when he was still a child, when a pupil named Kylo Ren brought upon the downfall of the new Order and killed most of the students there.

Ben was spared.

But his uncle wasn’t. Luke fled into exile, where he hid from it all.

That’s when she starts to tell him about Rey. An orphan found in the salvage yards of Jakku. Who defeated Kylo Ren before she was even fully trained. Who found his uncle in exile and became his first student since the temple was destroyed on Yavin. Who gave everyone their hope back.

“Why didn’t I go after him myself?” He asks, not quite believing.

“You gave up the teachings after Yavin,” the General answers, and Ben _knows_ that this, at least, is the truth.

“And became a mechanic instead.”

“That’s right.”

“You said Rey and I barely knew each other.”

“That was the truth.” She smooths a non-existent piece of errant hair from her braid. “Something happened during the accident that resulted in what Luke calls a bond.”

“A bond,” he echoes. He doesn’t miss the way Finn’s lip twitches at the word.

“It’s…” She breathes. “A burden. One we thought was dormant for now. But you’ve…you’ve been having memories, haven’t you? Thoughts or feelings that aren’t your own?”

He nods.

“We don’t know how it happened. From what we know bonds normally don’t, unless it’s between family or master and student. It’s rare.”

_“You need a teacher,” he nearly begs as he presses down on her. Their faces bathed in purple light._

Ben takes a moment to collect these errant memories. To try and rearrange the displaced thoughts into something he can picture. His hand drifts over the new wound that crosses his ribs. “I was hurt. No one wounded me.”

Finn looks down at the ground.

“That means Rey…”

“Could be dead,” the General says in a pragmatic tone that he senses she hates using. “Which is why we need you to try and find her.”

“How.”

“You might be able to…to see where she is.” The General does not sound confident. “If she’s still alive.”

Finn leaves the room.

“Rey was like family to us,” she says quietly, excusing his abrupt departure.

Ben hears what she does not say. _But she wasn’t to you._

He doesn’t know what to say. All of it—the story of the Jedi, of Luke, of the woman claiming to be his mother—it doesn’t arrange itself quite right in his mind. There are jagged edges, missing seams. This isn’t his full story, he knows that much. There’s still lies, still deceptions.

_Find your chains._

His fingers form a fist.

“Ben,” the General whispers. Kindly. _Patiently._ “Wherever she is, she doesn’t have a lot of time.”

_He loves her._

He lets go of his grip, flattens his fingers against the mattress.

_You’re going to go home, Ben. And stay there._

The idea locks into place. “I’ll find her.”

The General’s eyes well up with tears. “Thank you. Let us know when you sense something.”

He manages to dip his chin.  
Maybe they can both be liars.

\--

It’s late (or early) when he decides on his plan.

The two suns (because of _course_ this sweatstain of planet has more than one) are peaking over the horizon as he sits outside the main hub of Anchorhead—he’d been discharged from the medcenter a little over four hours ago. No one’s cared to check up on him since then.

Warmth seeps into his back, and Ben shifts uncomfortably against it as he leans further against a crate. The Resistance never rests, but there’s a lull in the movement of pilots and personnel in the early morning. He’s found himself observing the landing strip, watching the X-wings ( _ancient_ models) load fuel and run diagnostics—it’s almost like the routines back on Takodana. Something he’s always had, maybe.

He can’t see the stars in the already bright skies of Tatooine, but he tries anyway. He searches them for a pattern that maybe he used to know. Maybe it’s fruitless. Maybe it’s too late. But all he has is the same old questions and now too many answers for them.

Maybe she’s on one of them.

_You’re going to go home, Ben._

His stomach hurts. The sun rises.

And Ben doesn’t know why he misses her so badly, when she’s someone he’s never known.

\--

“Is this seat taken?”

He looks down, surprised to see the General standing below the stack of crates. She watches him for a moment, and then without an introduction lifts herself up so she’s sitting beside him. The distance between them is careful and calculated, but the General’s greying hair is in a simple braid over her shoulder and her tactical vest isn’t pressed. He knows, somehow, that this is her exposing a vulnerability she does not give freely. He doesn’t feel exceptional for it.

“You own the base.”

“Parts of it.” She looks out to what he’s watching, the sun rising in the distance. “Your uncle is from here.”

He grunts. “Unfortunate.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t happen often.”

“More than you’d think.”

He sends her a cursory glance. The General brings her knees to her chest.

“I don’t know what this is worth to you now,” she says in a soft voice that is edged with loss, “But I love you, Ben.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t know her, there are memories of his mother still in his mind. All he knows is the General, who would visit once a month and keep her distance from him. So he says nothing, and the General seems to accept that calmly.

“Do you have questions?”

“Are the answers going to be honest.”

“Who knows.”

He snorts, and there’s a roll of his eyes. It must be an old response for him, because it makes Leia give the smallest of flinches. “Always a politician.”

Her expression goes soft. “I never told you that.”

Ben grumles, “We do have a holo on Takadona.”

There’s a wry twist of her lips. “Three channels, right?”

“Sometimes four if Maz is generous.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“Explains why you left your son with her.”

The General sighs.  “I’m doing the best that I can. I know it’s not always good enough.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. And she doesn’t feel the need to elaborate. So they both just sit there, watching the two suns rise in slow, molasses crawls. Once they are high enough in the sky to both be fully visible, the General speaks quietly.

“You’re leaving.”

Ben sends her a glance. There is something about her, he knows, that will tell her if he’s lying to her. “Yes,” he says shortly.

“I could stop you from doing that.”

“Are you going to.”

“I was.” She closes her eyes.

“Now you’re not.”

“No.”

“Any particular reason.”

The General gives a slow swallow. And it’s almost as if she’s fighting back tears—a preposterous idea, Ben knows. She blinks, turning to him. “Just…finally understanding something.”

“And what might that be?”

“That I lost my son a long time ago,” she says with a real grief. “And that he can only come back on his own.”

“I need to find Rey,” he says after a moment. Not sure why he’s telling her this—not sure what’s promoted _honesty_ on his end when it clearly hasn’t been earned on hers.

“Why?”

He frowns. “She matters.” _To me._

The General turns to him. “And what do you need to find her?”

“A ship.”

“There’s one that just had its door welded back on.”

He cringes. This time, she smiles. He watches it, and it sparks something old.

_Her fingers thread through his hair, already curly and unruly since the last time she’s cut it._

_“Just give up already,” a younger him says sourly._

_She lightly pinches one of his ears, smiling bright and wide. “You want to look like Uncle Chewie?”_

_“NO!”_

_“Then I cut your hair.”_

_His face crunches into a scowl-_

“I have something of yours,” she interrupts, and the memory breaks and falls from him. “From before.”

“What is it.”

“Old,” she says dryly. Then her voice goes quieter. “Heavy.”

Ben watches her, expectant.

“Finn says you saved his life, is that true?”

He looks down at where his knees are folded up against his chest.   _You’re going to make sure Finn gets back to safety._ “…It was nothing.”

“No, it was something. Finn’s a good man.” The General reaches into the multi-kit at her waist (it’s the same as his), and withdraws something from it.

It takes Ben a second to realize what is in the General’s hands. It’s small, a little longer than a magwrench, and silver in color. Like she said, it seems old—some score marks marring the otherwise chromatic sheen of it.

“This was yours once,” she manages. “A long time ago.”

His stare doesn’t move from it, eyes tracing the grip. The ignition.

_That belongs to me!_

“Before that, it was your uncle’s. He gave it to you when you completed your apprenticeship.” The General brings it to her chest.  Holds it there and closes her eyes. A long moment stretches. Two. Ben can hear his blood rushing in his ears and heart pounding in his chest. “I don’t have much left of Luke’s, but this, I’ve hoped, has always been meant for you.”

When she opens her eyes, he can see the tears clearly. With a pained movement, the General outstretches her hand to him. The weapon in her grip makes her wrist bend slightly, the handle slipping lower so he might grab the other end of it.

He meets her eyes. The look on her face, something that’s mixed with desperation, loss, and hope, makes him pause.

“Take it,” she offers. “And go bring Rey home.”

“Thank you, General,” he says quietly.

“Why don’t we start with Leia?”

Ben brings up his hand, and the lightsaber fits perfectly in his palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't read bloodlines, so if anything in this is contradictory to it, i kindly ask that we all just roll with it/mentally AU this fic :D <3
> 
> that said,
> 
> TWO QUESTIONS:
> 
> 1\. (c/p'd from tumblr, sorry if you've seen it twice) hypothetically, would readers be interested in a part three of this story, or are we wanting to get to the resolution with Stars Don’t Come Down? im chill with either option, and have potential plans for both, but im starting to get to that point for Decisions in Stars Don’t Come Down and want to get some feelers before i start making them :P
> 
> 2\. are we hypothetically okay with the rating going up for Reasons (you probably know what Reasons) ?


	12. Orin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW FAN ART!! [ionasopov](https://tmblr.co/malmfGWIQcSjS47wghKGd7g) has drawn AN AMAZING PORTRAIT OF AALTO  
> GO CHECK IT OUT [HERE](http://imgur.com/vc5DsuS)!  
> it's gorgeous and especially fitting for this chapter ;D

\--  
**Rey.  
** \--

She feels him disappear, fading away as her hand drops back down to the ground. Rey stays where she is, her cheek pressed in the mud.

Everything hurts.

She tries to catch her breath, but it’s hard to with the wound in her gut. It sends a stabbing pain with every inhale that’s too deep—diaphragm damage, maybe.

Something bites into her hip, and Rey groans in pain as she forces her body to roll to the side. She flops onto her back and her other hand pries out the lightsaber she had fallen on. Her own, disengaged.

Her head rings. Spinning. She lifts a muddied hand up, futilely wiping it on the front of her tunic before pressing her fingers against her stomach. She pulls her hand back—and there’s blood. Dark blood. Not a good sign.

The injury was made by a knife. Just a regular knife. It’s hard to remember that only a few years ago a knife seemed threatening. Now it’s trivial. Unless it ends up in her abdomen.

She swallows, tilting her head back to look behind her.

The black mask of a Knight of Ren looks back. She didn’t even know this one’s name.

Rey thinks about standing up. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to manage through the pain of the stomach wound. But she needs to try. She can’t die yet, not before-

A pair of black boots step into her vision.

She looks up. The robes of a monk. Pale hands folded together in front of his chest.

Aalto smiles down at her, head tilted to one side. “Miss me?”

Her hand instantly reaches for her lightsaber-

He kicks it away. “Not yet.” Aalto bends his knees, until he is resting on his haunches in front of her, his elbows on the top of them. He looks at her, smile still in place, then back to the corpse of the Knight of Ren behind them. “You’ve killed Mjurgo. That isn’t supposed to happen until after Soran.” He tsk’s. “I’d appreciate you staying to schedule.”

She looks at him with all the hate she can manage. She’s been bleeding for a while, and she’s starting to pay the price. Weakly, she extends her hand for the lightsaber again. It rattles, slides, and-

Aalto’s lips press tight in annoyance, the smile vanishing as he extends his arm and catches it before it can land in Rey’s hand. “I said not. Yet _._ ”

She presses her hand into the mud, using it to lift her body up. The movement sends a jar of white-hot pain through her midsection and she slumps back down.

“Rey,” he says softly. Patiently. One of his hands cups her cheek and she wants to scream. “ _Wait_.”

“What are you doing,” she manages, consciousness starting to wane and ebb at the corners of her mind.

His face is carefully blank. And when he smiles, it’s with the familiar twitch that pulls at the corner of his lips. “Correcting the path.”

She tries to push herself up again. Falls. Black and white sparks dance across her vision. “Fuck your path.”

“Where’s the crystal, Rey?”

She grits her teeth, her fingers clenching in the mud as she tries to push herself up.

“Rey. Please answer my question.”

“Why did you kill him,” she demands with a snarl.

Aalto blinks owlishly. “Who?”

Rey tries to call to her lightsaber one more time.

Aalto sighs, before he slides two fingers across the air and Rey collapses, and stays, down.

\--

She wakes up to her body being carried. It’s a slow step, a hand under her knees and another under her shoulders.

 _Kylo?_ She thinks, trying to look up but being unable to move.

“No,” comes Aalto’s voice tersely. Then, calmer: “Almost there.”

They keep walking, and Rey panics when she realizes her situation. Her stomach is wounded. Aalto found her. Now she can’t move. Paralyzed.

She casts out her senses, trying to find the invisible walls that hold her. Aalto’s presence in her perception is a toxic intrusion, the echoes from his long-healed wound still present, pulsing. They no longer poison him, but the presence, she thinks, will be there forever. Rey mentally finds the wall he’s thrown, looking for cracks in its foundation.

“Very good,” he says, “Though I wouldn’t continue. It’s all that’s keeping the contents of your stomach in.”

She uses the Force to take stock of her body and realizes he’s right. However…

Rey pushes through, just a little. “Why…” Breathes deep even though it hurts. “Did you. Kill him?”

Aalto’s fingers are cold against the bare skin between her shoulder blades. As if sensing her attention there, he trails them across her, up to the base of her neck. “Anything I do has a purpose to it, Rey.”

“Answer me.”

The fingers under her knees start to twitch. “I told you to wait.”

She doesn’t listen. Instead, Rey focuses her attention on channeling energy back into her body. Her limbs start to come alive in pins and needles. Her eyes are able to look around.

They’re…in Theed. Walking down the market square, through the crowds. At first no one notices, but then one head turns. Another. People begin to whisper and hush when they notice a pale man in black holding on to a young woman slowly bleeding out in his arms.

Aalto’s grip tightens, as though he can’t stand to let her go. Rey wants to be sick.

She bunches her fist in the cloth of his robe with numb, waxy fingers. “Answer my question, Aalto. And I’ll answer yours.”

His pale, near-colorless eyes dart to her face. He turns at a street corner—wherever he’s going, he knows the way. The expression that crosses his face gives away his intrigue. “If you insist. Where’s the crystal?”

“In my lightsaber.”

He glares, disapproving. “Not that one and you know it.”

Rey meets his stare. If there’s one person he hates… “It’s with Kylo.”

The hands he has on her tighten their grip. “Oh, Rey.” He presses his forehead against hers. “I wish you hadn’t have done that.”

She ignores him and uses all of her strength to tilt her head away from his. “Your turn.”

Aalto stops in front of a door. With delicate, careful movements—as if she is made of something fragile or broken—he lowers her to the ground in front of it, keeping his hand behind her head . With the same careful movement, he uses his free hand to withdraw her lightsaber from inside his robes. He takes his time reaching across her waist, clipping it back to her belt.

“Rey,” he says in that patient tone she can’t stand, “I can’t answer your question.”

“Why.”

He cards away some of her hair from her forehead before he kisses it. His lips are cool and chapped and she wants nothing more than to swing her lightsaber up into his chest. He leans forward even more, folding his hands in the small of his back. His lips brush the shell of her ear.

“Because I haven’t killed anyone.”

Aalto withdraws, standing up straight and pressing the comm signal on the door.

“ _Yes?”_ Crackles a woman’s voice from somewhere in the building.

“Doctor Agathon?”

” _Who is this?_ ”

“There’s a woman dying in your doorway. See that she survives, or I’ll murder your family.”

_“Excuse me-?!”_

Aalto slides his finger from the comm. Smiles at her. “That’s twice now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says around a groan as his numbing technique leaves and the pain floods back.

Aalto’s voice goes distant. “It could.” He leaves whatever path his mind’s gone down with a shake of his head. “Please stay with the schedule, Rey. It’s important.”

He sends her one more, long, look before he begins to walk away. The numbing vanishes, and the pain explodes—sending her back into the darkness.

\--

_They’re sitting in one of their old caves. Rain pours outside, and the fire they sit beside casts a warm, orange glow._

_Luke’s face is hooded, gaze cast down at the flames._

_“Rey. Come back home.”_

\--

She doesn’t know where she is. The first thing Rey tries to do is grab her lightsaber, but there’s a restraint around her wrist—the other side of it clipped to the railing of her bed. She pulls against it again, but her body is too weak—casting out what pitiful healing energy she has, she can sense that there’s enough drugs in her system to keep her sedated for a few hours.

Her mouth is dry, tasting of antiseptics, and her body from ribcage to hips has an uncomfortable tightness—bandages, wrapped around her midsection. The pain there is like a deep, bruising burn.

Rey cracks open her eyes, allowing them a moment to adjust before she looks around the room. It’s…

Cluttered.

There’s a row of small cots to the right of her, all of them empty but with neatly folded sheets on the ends of them. Sunlight comes in from an open window, making the room look brown and warm and comfortable. The window’s framed by a row of plants that look like someone is desperately trying to keep them alive, some potting soil and water leaking onto the sill.

The desk next to it is a pile. Datapads are stacked one on top of each other, along with some holoscreens and other knickknacks.

A woman’s sitting at it. Her hair is a dark auburn in color, wrapped up on top of her head with a mint green scarf. Her clothes are practical, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and a stylus tucked behind her ear.

And she’s talking to someone on a comm.

“Your _friend_ came by today,” she says—her voice edged with annoyance.

“ _Friend?”_ Responds another woman, her image obscured from Rey’s vantage point by the person she assumes is Doctor Agathon.

“The pale man.”

“ _…what did he want?”_

The doctor snorts, her hoverchair gliding to the other end of the desk as she pulls out a datapad. “To leave a woman on my porch.”

 _“What woman?”_ The person on the other end of the comm’s voice becomes immediately serious.

“I don’t know. She doesn’t have ID on her…” the doctor pulls the stylus from behind her ear and starts scrolling through the datapad. “Penetrating trauma, likely a stab wound, perforated liver, spleen, stomach, and diaphragm. If she didn’t bleed out, she would have died from sepsis-“

_“Any burn marks?”_

“No, should there be?”

“ _I don’t know. It’s not like Aalto to-“_

There’s a click on the machine next to her, and Rey’s eyes drift close as her head becomes heavy.

\--

When she wakes up next, it’s almost pitch black but for the blue and green halos cast off by the machines in the room. Rey’s head is pounding, her mouth painfully dry, but the main in her stomach has considerably lessened. Enough where she thinks she can manage to sit up.

She uses her free arm to prop herself up, takes a breath, and grunts as she shifts her weight. The muscles on her abdomen pull in protest, and a flare of nausea rises in her throat, but she ignores it. Once she’s finally in a seat, she pants, looking around the weird, oddly homely room. She feels Aalto’s presence like a cobweb, gone but leaving a syrupy feeling behind.

Too close, she thinks. This time was too close.

The Knight—Mjurgo, Aalto had called him—hadn’t said much. Their fight was quick, but he got the last play on her by bringing in the average blade when she least expected it. It was also unsettling that she hadn’t been looking for this Knight in particular. He’d ambushed her as she was walking out to get supplies for the next off-planet ride.

Her stomach twists for reasons unrelated to the injury. She hopes Aalto did something with his body—if she gets out of this situation, she’ll go back to check.

“So you’re awake.”

Rey’s eyes dart up to the doorway, where Doctor Agathon stands. In her hand is a tray with a pitcher of water on it—Rey’s mouth salivates. The doctor is a lot younger than Rey had anticipated—probably only a handful of years older than herself. Her face is wide, heart-shaped, and covered in a smattering of thick freckles.

“Welcome to my clinic,” she says, “I hope you’re not going to try and kill me.”

Rey swallows. “Can I have some of that?” She nods to the tray.

Doctor Agathon sends her a long look, before she sets it down at the table beside her. Rey reaches for it, taking greedy gulps from the cup-

“Smaller sips,” Doctor Agathon scolds. “Easy. I spent a lot of time reconstructing your stomach.”

 Wincing, Rey follows her instructions. “Thank you,” she whispers once she’s finished, drawing the back of her unchained hand across her mouth.

Doctor Agathon’s brows raise. “You’re welcome.” Her eyes dart to the restraint around Rey’s wrist. “Any reason I should be concerned?” She points a finger. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Rey shakes her head. “No,” she says honestly. Her eyes narrow. “Any reason I should be?”

Doctor Agathon’s mouth tugs into a grin. “No,” she answers—Rey can sense the truth in it within the Force—and pours her another cup of water. “I’m a doctor. I don’t care for mess.”

Rey’s eyes stray to the desk full of…well, mess. Doctor Agathon gives her an amused look, as if sensing her line of thought. “I’m a brilliant researcher, we get passes on dysfunctional living spaces.”

Rey drinks more water, this time slower. The chalky taste in her mouth starts to wash away, as well as the acidity in her stomach. “How long have I been here?”

“Three days…” the doctor looks out the window. “Going on four.”

“I have to go.”

“I won’t stop you, but I’m going to recommend that you don’t.”

“Why?”

The doctor points at the bandages around her stomach. “Bacta patches under there. Going to need another day before I’m sure you’re not septic.”

Rey presses her hand over the top of her bandages. Closing her eyes, she casts out her senses with the Force. Her wounds are healed, barely. She pushes her energy into the location of the wounds, letting the Force wash over them and slowly knit them together.

“Oh,” the doctor whispers. “You’re one of _those._ ”

Rey looks up at her, and Doctor Agathon raises her hands.

“Explains a little more, actually,” she says quickly. “Normally it would take a lot longer for…everything to settle.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone about this,” Rey says, elevating her request with a Force persuasion technique.

“I wasn’t going to anyway,” Doctor Agathon’s gaze remains clear, a subtle resistance pushing back at Rey.

“You’re Force sensitive,” Rey breathes.

The doctor shrugs. “Normally I go by Orin.”

The doctor reaches over, and unclicks the chain around her wrist.

\--

An hour later, Rey’s sitting with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a mug of cocoa steaming in front of her. Doctor Agathon—Orin—sits across from the table her, absently puffing on a cigarro.

“Sorry,” she says, wafting away the smoke as she exhales. “It’s been something of a Day.”

“I can understand that.”

“I bet you can.” Orin takes another drag, holds it, then lets it go. Rey thinks absently to the dying plants in her clinic. The two of them are now in her apartment which rests above it. “So. Jedi or what? Don’t give me that look, I saw the lightsaber.”

Rey manages a weak grin at that. “I’m not sure anymore.” Her mind travels to the conversation she overheard from her hospital bed, and she sends Orin a skeptical glance. She remembers the conversation on the comm—how she knew Aalto by name. “You know Aalto.”

“We’ve met,” Orin says with a sneer. “But I wouldn’t say I know him. Thankfully.” She shakes her head. “We have a…mutual acquaintance. Aalto thinks that’s given him permission to dump corpses on my lawn. No offense.”

“You should stay away from him,” Rey warns.

“Believe me, I’m trying. I’ve moved three times this year, and he always seems to know when.” She grinds down her cigarro on the table. “At this point it’s less credits to just stay put and hope he loses interest in my practice.”

Rey can’t help the unsettled feeling that hangs in the air. “…Do you know what he is?” She finally manages. Because if this doctor is associated with the Knights…she has to do something to stop it.

“A little.” Orin picks up her mug of hot cocoa and sips it. “Evil Force users about sums it up, right?”

Rey gives a small nod.

Orin tilts her head. “I’m not with them, don’t worry. I think that might be why Aalto brought a Jedi to my door. He knows I’m just going to do my job.”

“They’re dangerous.”

“I know.” Orin rolls her shoulders. The loose robe over them slides off to reveal an insignia tattooed on her bicep. Rey recognizes it as a clan marking—Mandalorian, maybe. “But I don’t leave people dying in the street.”

Rey’s eyes widen as Aalto’s threat returns to the front of her mind. “Your family-?”

“Will be fine. You’re not dead, are you?” She smiles, revealing the slightest of gaps in her front teeth. “Turns out I’m a good doctor.”

Rey sags in relief. “Thank you. For saving me—you didn’t have to do that.”

Orin winks. “I’ll send you the bill later. For now, I think that cup of cocoa is going to do you a galaxy of good.”

Rey’s fingers wrap around the mug, and she brings it to her lips.

It’s the best thing she’s had in ages.

\--

The next day she’s packing. Whatever credits Rey has left to spare she transfers to the clinic.

“Five hundred?” Orin whistles low as she looks at the deposit on her datapad. “Should have known the Jedi were cheap.”

“I’m sorry,” Rey says earnestly, determination filling her. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

Orin shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. I’m well-funded.”

Rey isn’t sure if she should go any further than that, but the unsettled feeling hasn’t quite vanished yet. “By the Knights of Ren?”

The doctor sends her a soft look that has an edge of understanding Rey wishes it didn’t. “By a person I care about.”

The implication settles in. The woman on the comm link.

“They’re…not good people, Orin.”

“I know.” The doctor tilts her head. “And for what it’s worth, I hope you don’t run into them again.”

“I’m searching for Aalto,” she confesses. “He killed my Master.”

“Then please find him,” Orin states, showing Rey her credit screen. “He’s bad for business.”

Rey smiles. Then hesitates. “…Who was the woman you were talking to? I- I can’t promise anything, but maybe-”

Orin shakes her head. “There’s no exceptions, Rey. I’ve come to terms with that.” She lights another cigarro, the plume of smoke curling up.

Rey lowers her gaze. Her thumb hooked through the strap of her old lightsaber holster. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes in advance.

The doctor only takes another drag of her cigarro. “Do what you need to do, Jedi. We’ll do the same.”

\--

The abandoned apartment she’s been hiding is ransacked. Her workbench is overturned, her neatly organized tools and parts splayed out all over the ground. The encryptions on her datapad have been broken, and she’s not surprised to see that someone’s been going through her messages. The screen is frozen on the last one she received from Aalto, and a chill runs down her spine.

It exhausts her to even try to figure out what it is that he’s attempting. But she knows she needs to. Her training in flow-walking is far from as extensive as his own, but there needs to be something he’s overlooked. A contingency he hasn’t accounted for.

Anger flares in her. She had been _so close._ Just a little more strength, and she could have-

Rey moves from her datapad to start scavenging the parts from the workbench that are important. She’ll leave the rest.

She knows that she’s disrupted his paths before. Once, with meeting Mjurgo. And by meeting Kylo. _Ben_.

Rey idly traces her fingers over her new scar. Not for the first time relieved that the bond is broken. The day she was shot in the chest hasn’t left her. Or the cryptic words Aalto spoke that night by the fire.

_Sometimes, you go to him._

One thing is certain. She needs to keep moving. Naboo has become too dangerous, if another Knight of Ren was able to find her hiding spot. She’ll trade for supplies-

Her hand closes around the other half of the red kyber crystal. She doesn’t know why it wasn’t taken; probably too small to be of any real worth. There’s only a moment of hesitation before she grabs a thin cord from her multikit and restrings the pendant. It still rests perfectly over that small, circular scar from the blaster that was never aimed at her.

_Rey, come back home._

She needs some air.

\--

The streets of Theed are less crowded at night. A few students straggling out from behind the University gates, some musicians or artists performing in the street for the dinner-date crowd. Rey walks for what feels like hours, taking in the sights as the pass her by. Letting herself be only another face on the road, not someone who has so much still to do.

After an hour or so, her feet bring her back to the Amidala Botanical Gardens. She notices, dryly, that they’ve made quick work of fixing the shattered parts of the annex. Adjusting the holster over her shoulder, she moves toward it.

The gardens are nearly empty at this hour. And there’s something calming about being in the greens, surrounded by plants and having just her own thoughts for company.

Calming. And lonely.

She walks through the various greenhouses, and her mind drifts.

That one is Finn’s favorite shade of yellow.  
Leia’s made arrangements with those.  
Luke is allergic to those tubers.

Some of them remind her of the window sill in Orin’s house, potted plants that are cared for but dying anyway.

It’s been _so long_ since she’s been home. Away from the people who would make her cocoa or water her plants. Since she’s seen her family.

Furiously, she rubs the heel of her hand against her eyes.

Absently, she wonders if she crosses their minds, and how often. If Finn’s forgiven her for leaving so many times, if Leia has found someone else to take walks with in the morning. If Poe ever got that carburetor to work.

It could have all been over. She could have killed Aalto, if she had only a little more will.  
Or she could have died in the mud. Alone.

She thinks of Luke. Their last conversation while he was still alive.

_What’s best isn’t always what’s brave._

Rey finds a tree to meditate under, as she tries to puzzle out what best even means anymore.

-

Once she feels calm enough to leave, Rey brushes off her pants and gathers her gear. The sun is just starting to break against the dark sky, a rosy color illuminating the greenhouses. She’ll take it as a good omen.

There’s a little bit of a stiffness to her walk as she stands and moves toward the exit. Her fingers tighten their hold on the holster’s strap, and Rey begins to feel the pieces of what she needs to do slide together. Of who she needs to see.

At the exit of the botanical garden, there’s a person standing by himself.

Rey’s heart thuds in her ears as she steps closer. The first thing anyone would notice about him is his height—he’s almost too tall, stooping over a holomap projector held in his hands. His black hair might be next, it rests just above the tops of his shoulders, the crown of it braided back and secured under a pair of beaten goggles. Then maybe his ears. Or his nose. Or the mouth, set into a frustrated scowl.

Her grip on the holster goes lax.  
He looks up from his map, and their eyes connect.

She should run, she thinks. The smart thing to do would be to run. But she’s exhausted, and it’s early, and this might just be a hallucination.

He doesn’t say anything. But she watches as a parade of emotions dance across his face. He carefully turns off the map he clearly can’t decipher, putting it in his kit. Then he walks toward her—slow enough that she could still go. Still leave and not look back.

Rey only finds her voice when he is standing right in front of her, head bowed to meet her eyes. “What are you doing here?” She manages.

“I don’t know,” he answers. His voice is strained.

“How did you know I would be here?”

“I didn’t. But I felt…”

Her hand falls from the holster on her back altogether. Kylo looks at her and it is the same look he gave her so long ago—the one right before he told her to leave Jagomir on her own.

“Don’t run.”

She smiles sadly. He’s still trying to issue commands.

He watches her. Rey watches back, seeing something build in him, a force of some kind that he is doing his best to contain. When she doesn’t step away, he brings a hand to the back of her head and violently presses his mouth to hers. Her holster drops when she brings her arms around his neck to kiss him back. She feels long fingers slide through her hair, tightening as though he doesn’t know how to keep what he’s holding. They tilt her head back as one of her hands roughly grabs the front of his vest. His teeth graze her lower lip in clumsy, desperate hunger and she stands on her toes to be closer.

She thinks he’s about to deepen the kiss, but when he pulls back it is only to press a softer one against her lips. Her cheeks. Her jaw. He’s panting when he rests his forehead against her own, strands of his black hair dancing in her vision as he wraps his arms around her tightly.

She holds him back, her palms against his shoulder blades, and she feels him sag in a small movement—something decompressing. He presses a few, quick kisses to her lips again, letting the last one linger.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says in a strained whisper. “But I _can’t_.”

His words hit her, and she would recoil if not for the strength of his hold. For a moment, she…

This isn’t Kylo.  
This is Ben.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “This wasn’t-“

He pulls away enough to gauge her reaction. Whatever he sees there makes his expression harden. “No.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is. _No._ ” His hand slides from her hair to her jawline, his hand large enough for his thumb to trace over her cheekbone. “You know this is how it’s supposed to be.”

She has to look away at the statement—it’s something he’s said to her before. When he was Kylo.  Before she took away his memories to spare his life. “You don’t know what we’ve done,” she manages.

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“I _don’t._ ” His fingers trail down to her neck, where they rest on the chip of red stone. His pupils dilate, his lips press into a tight line. “This was mine, wasn’t it?” His eyes dart up to meet hers. “Why do you have it?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“How long have you had it?”

“K-“ she stops herself. “ _Ben._ ”

_“How long?”_

“Three years,” she confesses quietly.

Something sparks in his gaze. He says nothing, only pulls her tighter against him. In a movement that shouldn’t be familiar, she tucks her head under his chin. Presses her ear to his chest. His heart is pounding.

“Let me bring you home,” he says.

She’s so tired. Her eyes drift close.

“Rey.”

His build nearly has him framing her as he wraps his arms around her waist. She shouldn’t be here. She can’t move.

 _“Rey-_ ”

“Alright,” she whispers. “For a little while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The wonderful NeitiCora has drawn more beautiful fanart inspired by the ending scene! CHECK OUT BEN'S GOOBER BRAIDS [Here!](http://neiticora.tumblr.com/post/147265420521/okay-i-know-this-is-getting-slightly-creepy-and)


	13. The Falcon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Aalto fanart!!!! [gogolithicmass](http://gogolithicmass.tumblr.com) has done a sketch of everyone's favorite creep [here!](https://67.media.tumblr.com/3a9091d3b67b56916cae6aa8865085c4/tumblr_o9gn0cnJrD1rs5uiro1_540.jpg) AND IT'S GREAT AND AMAZING!!! :D I totally need to do more full!monk!hoodie Aalto in this fic because this is a #Look
> 
> Again, thank you so much for all the thoughtful feedback & enthusiasm regarding the fic + fic plans! You'll notice I went ahead with a ratings bump + have a chapter limit set for sdcd :D for now, the plan is to wrap up everything in part two and finish it there-- but have the option open for a part three somewhere down the road. I think i'll need to take a break in between to finish some other WIPS (one of which is a different reylo, so sorry you can't get rid of me that easily ;) ) 
> 
> also disclaimer: idk how much the falcon can actually hold. we're just going to Rule of Cool it.

\--  
**Rey.**  
\--  
  
She’s never seen anything so offensive in her entire life.

 _The Happabore,_ he called it. It’s certainly bulky like one. And was that door literally sealed with adhesive strips? Barbaric.

“It’s not mine,” Kylo says to her side, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Clearly,” she snorts. She thinks about the Upsilon shuttle, its sleek black plating and crisp lines. And then looks at _The Happabore._ Which is about as majestic as something that’s come out the end of a real one.

“It’s…Finn’s.” She notices how his eyes fall on her. Tense and assessing.

Rey doesn’t bother to hide her reaction. Not from him, and not about Finn. She thinks about her best friend’s smile, his willingness to do whatever it is he needs to do to help people. His absence feels, not for the first time, like an ache that’s never going to go away.

“I miss him.”

“He’ll be at the base.”

He doesn’t know why that might be more painful than good. Just like he doesn’t know why it’s nothing short of a miracle that he uses Finn’s name, let alone his clunker of a van. The thought brings a smile to her face, as she thinks about the Jakku.

“He always had garbage taste in ships.” She ignores Kylo’s curious look, and takes a step forward to keep him from asking any questions.

She can tell he wants to. Every time he looks at her, there’s an undercurrent of desperation and anger about him. Soon it’s going to implode if not diffused.

But she can’t do that now. There’s too much she needs to figure out for herself, first.

In so many ways, he’s Kylo. The near-permanent scowls. The fists that clench and unclench in desperate needs to hit something when he’s frustrated. The pull between them, not as strong as the bond, but still hard to ignore. The scars he got from her haven’t gone away.

But already she can tell that there are many ways in which he is someone else. The old, dated transport. The goggles on the top of his head. The awkward way he hunches, instead of standing straight and being ready to fight anyone or anything. He told her the last three years had left him unhappy, and she knows it’s her fault why. Because she made the decision to create a lie instead of let him die.

Morbidly, she wonders which Kylo—the _real_ Kylo—would have preferred.

Rey clears her throat, squatting down near one of the more badly-damaged frames of _The Happabore’s_ exterior.

“Scoring’s thick and the frame’s warped. The door must’ve been shot off,” she says diplomatically. It’s later in the morning, and for right now she decides to focus on what she is able to do instead of what she can’t immediately solve. “I’d say-“

“Thermal detonators.”

Rey slowly looks up at him.

He’s standing in the exact post. Spine rigid. Arms crossed over his chest. Chin jutting out. “Kanjiklub boarded our ship on the way back to the Resistance.”

 Her heart does a strange thing at hearing the sentence. “…Kanjiklub?”

“You know them?”

“I think I killed a few when I let loose some rathtars.”

He goes even tenser, and Rey sees his eyes widen slightly in recognition. “With Finn.”

She nods, biting her lower lip. “It was a long time ago.” She focuses her attention back on the door. “It’ll take a few-“

“Casings. I know.” His stare is a heavy thing on her back. “Rey. How long have we known each other?”

She breathes in through her nose. “Casings would work as a starting point, though you’ll want to eventually replace the exterior airlock’s transition strips-“

“Rey.”

“-and maybe add another layer of insulation, the structural integrity of the transport would benefit-“

“ _Rey._ ”

“I can’t, alright?” She snaps, not turning around to look at him. Then she exhales. _There is no passion…_ “Just. I need time.”

“I can see how three years might not be enough.”

Her mind flashes quickly to the shores of Rakata. Thudro-Shan’s fighting arena. “I had other things on my mind.”

“You mean I’m an afterthought.”

 _Force,_ he picked the worst mannerisms to hold onto. She punched open a paneling, ripping out some junked wires without ceremony. “You realize I’m the last Jedi, yes?”

He pauses, and she gets the distinct impression that he doesn’t believe her. “So.”

“So I’ve had other obligations more important than my personal affairs.” She throws the wires on the ground—they’re fried. Whoever did replacements on the circuitry did a patch job rather than an actual repair. A bad patch.

His voice is edged in annoyance. “Personal affair.”

“Don’t be…”

“What.”

“Literal.” She pulls herself halfway into the paneling to get a better look at the guts of the transport. So many things have been corrected with a bacta patch than a replacement. “It’s a miracle this thing hasn’t combusted.”

His words are clipped. “I’ve repaired it.”

“Then you’re a rubbish mechanic.”

She can almost hear his fist clenching. “Supposedly I’ve been doing it all my life.”

Rey closes her eyes. Counts to ten. It’s so tempting to just…tell him. But she can’t do that. Not without talking to Leia first—she owes her that much and more. And she _can’t_ jeopardize a second chance if that’s truly what’s happening. Part of her is still that selfish. “You’re going to need selenium processors, new tubing, and-“

“And to recase the wiring!” He snaps, pushing past her and storming into _The Happabore._

Rey sits there for a moment, before she shifts her weight to rest on the backs of her heels. She doesn’t know how this was supposed to go, but she doesn’t think this is quite right.

She takes a breath. Do what you can, first.

Rey continues to fix the door. Then the ventilation. Then the autopilot. Then the scrubbers.

\--

By the time she’s done, it’s getting late into the afternoon and her face, hands, and arms are covered in grease, coolant, and whatever mysterious red liquid was being used in the injectors. Her muscles strain, but there’s a pleasant exhaustion in her now instead of an agitated one. She’s halfway through regulating the pressure on the compressor when she hears footsteps. They aren’t the heavy, almost gravity-inducing ones that had grown familiar to her the last time she was fixing a shuttle. Instead they’re unconsciously loud, almost clumsy. Another thing to add in the columns of what Ben is, and what he’s not.

“Here.”

She looks up from the bottom of the ladder. Kylo— _Ben_ —stands at the edge of the opening, holding a canteen. Wordlessly, she lifts up a hand and he tosses it down. She catches it easily, unscrewing the top and taking a deep draught from it.

He watches that, too. He hasn’t stopped watching her.

She glances up at the top of the ladder. Ben hesitates, then sits on the edge of the opening. His lanky frame putting the bottoms of his boots almost at her eye-level.

“You’re a mechanic,” he observes.

She slowly screws back the lid of the canteen and tosses it up at him. He catches it with the slightest of fumbles. “I’m better at taking things apart.”

There’s a vague look of awe on his face. No doubt something is suddenly fitting together in his mind. “A scavenger.”

She turns her attention intently to the exposed wiring in front of her. “So I’ve been told.”

“Were you my teacher?”

A spark emits and she gives a quick yelp, withdrawing her hand from the wires and putting her thumb in her mouth to soothe the electrical burn. “If I were, you’d have done a better job at rewiring.”

He grunts in annoyance. She doesn’t know why that makes her smile, but it does. “Mechanic to Jedi,” he comments neutrally.

She slams shut the paneling. “It’s a long story.”

“Tell it to me.”

Rey looks up. Ben looks down, his expression intent.

Her fingers slowly slide from the wall. Exhausted once more, she leans her shoulder against it instead. After a few, tense moments, it’s Rey who breaks the connection to close her eyes and lean her head back.

“Ben.”

“What are you to me?” He asks abruptly.

She winces at the unintentional echo of an earlier question he doesn’t remember. _I’m no one,_ is the answer she’s ready to give.

But he’s found her twice. And she’s starting to realize the two of them are something she can’t walk away from. Something he—Kylo—figured out a long time ago.

“Whatever we were,” she phrases carefully, “I never could figure out a name for it. I don’t think you could, either.” A lie. She thinks she knows what he would say, if it were Kylo and not Ben in front of her.

“Why.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Rey starts to pack up the tools from her multikit. “It was before the accident. And it’s been over-“

He slides down from his perch, landing with a quiet thump. The narrow opening of the systems control puts them nearly flush at the chest. Rey’s grip tightens on the wrench she’s holding.

Kylo stares at her, a dark and heated look that reminds her far too much of old memories. He brings the backs of his fingers to her cheek, brushing it before leaning in.

He gives her a moment to back away as little as she can in the enclosed space, but when she doesn’t, he brings his mouth down to hers. The hand on her cheek slides to underneath her chin, angling her face up for a deeper kiss. It’s slow and measured, and one of his hands settles on the small of her back, pushing her closer. When she leans her back against the wall, he steps forward to compensate, the hand under her chin moving to her hip as she brings her arms around his neck-

Idiot _,_ she thinks to herself. She’s an idiot.

He pulls away to look down at her, his attention single-mindedly focused in a way that is all the man in the mask.

“I don’t think we’re over,” he mutters, before he kisses her again.

Rey closes her eyes, lets herself enjoy the sensation before she puts a hand on his chest. “Stop,” she whispers.

He does. “What?”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Fair,” he echoes in dry disbelief.

“You don’t know me,” she says, gently stepping out of his hold and reaching for the ladder. “Or what I’ve done. And I don’t know you.”

His fingers ghost over her waist before reluctantly dropping from it. “I don’t care.”

Rey looks at him softly. “…you might.”

Before she can hear him say anything else, she grabs the rungs and climbs out.

\--

An hour later, he finds her in the cockpit as she tries to fix shortened fuses. There’s something dark surrounding him, angered.

“Tell me then.”

She toggles a switch. Nothing. “What?”

“What have you done.”

Rey mentally counts to ten. “It’s complicated.”

“Then _uncomplicated it._ ”

“Once we get back to the Resistance.”

Apparently this is the wrong thing to say, because Ben strides to stand beside her seat. He leans over it, face set in a dark scowl. “So you can make sure your stories match?”

“You’re blocking my light,” she mutters, toggling the switch with more velocity. The clicking noise of it makes his eyes narrow.

“You left me behind.”

The statement slips out, but Rey can hear the bitterness in it and it makes her fingers still. _I know all about waiting._ She leans back in the co-pilot’s seat, rubbing fingers across her temples. Her mind goes back to that day on Takodana.

She made sure to leave as quickly as she could. Before he woke up—it was for the best. How was he supposed to miss someone he never said goodbye to?

But here he is. And he knows she left him for three years without an explanation. It was for the best, she knows. In the galaxy sense. But here, now, sitting in this uncomfortable seat and feeling his desperate stare on her, the A to B becomes muddled.

Rey closes her eyes. “…we’ll start with three questions.” She sends him a warning look. “The rest when we get to base.”

He watches her, no doubt trying to judge her sincerity. She meets his gaze.

“As best I can, I won’t lie.”

“I don’t know if that’s worth anything.”

“I know. I told you that.”

He exhales, before he storms to the seat across from her and unceremoniously falls into it in a mess of long limbs. “Fine. Let me think.”

Rey nods, going back to toggle the switch-

“ _Without_ that noise.”

She clicks it slowly two more times before dropping her fingers from it. At his acidic look she lifts one shoulder. “Stress response.”

He shakes his head. The two sit in half a second of silence before he asks his first.

“Were we together?”

Rey doesn’t want to think about the significance of that being his first question. But it’s an easy, honest, answer. “No.”

His lips press together. Rey looks back intently at the switch.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

She sees his fists rest on top of his knees. “Was there really an accident?” He bites out.

_She looks down at his head in her lap. His eyes are rolled back, a trickle of blood falling from his nose. Her fingers make slow movements through his hair as she comes to a decision she hopes she doesn’t hate herself for._

Rey looks out the viewport. “Yes.” But that’s not quite true, so she exhales and clarifies. “An attack.”

She thinks he wants to ask a follow-up question, but he stops himself. Physically swallowing back the question, he instead changes to a different one. “Is Finn a Jedi?”

The question confuses her, but it’s obviously important to him. “No,” she says with a small shake of her head. “Though I think he could be. One day, if he wants the training.”

The two of them sit next to each other, an uneasy and now vulnerable co-existence. She doesn’t know what to do about the way he watches her, but she wishes it was something that would stop. If only for long enough to figure out what to do and how to feel.

“Did you love me?” He manages after a long stretch. The question is a weak and fragile thing between them.

Rey closes her eyes. “…that’s a fourth question.”

Before he can ask her anything else, she stands. Taking a moment, she clears her throat and straightens the holster over her shoulder.

“Your navigation systems are shot. We’d better haul this on my ship.”

So she doesn’t have to see his reaction, she leaves the cockpit and makes way for the exit of _The Happabore._

 

\--  
**Ben.  
** \--

She flies _The Happabore_ in atmo, until they cross a few kilometers and land in a wide, green clearing on the outskirts of Theed. The co-pilot’s seat doesn’t have enough legroom, so instead he hangs back in the entry room and watches her.

He can guess from Kes’s continual annoyance that the cruiser isn’t an easy vehicle to fly, but it looks like Rey was born in that chair. He knows that his staring makes her uneasy, but he’s not able to look away as her fingers dance across the controls and her arms move with a well-rehearsed economy. Her hair is half thrown up in a simple knot, the scar on her cheek is thin but deep.

_Were we together?  
No._

Why not, he thinks with no small amount of frustration. There’s something between them, something that doesn’t have to do with the bond she hasn’t even mentioned. Who he used to be loved her, he remembers it clearly. And as he sees her tinker with controls or smile to herself when the ship flies far more smoothly than it has a right to, he knows who he is could love her too.

It’s a foreign sentiment. In the three years since he’s been on Takodana, there hasn’t been anyone else—not even with a passing interest. There’s only been Rey. He senses, intrinsically, that there’s only been Rey for a long time.

And now she’s here. Taking him back to Tatooine, to the people who clearly care about her but have no problem in lying to him. The closer they get to returning to the Resistance, the more the itch inside him intensifies. She’ll be going back to others that love her. Leia. _Finn._ People who have memories of her that he doesn’t get to share. Something screams in him to stop it, to keep her _here._ On Naboo, or Takodana, anywhere she gets to stay away from those liars and manipulators-

“This is it,” she says carefully, turning over her shoulder to look at him.

He crosses his arms over his chest. He’s furious and he has no reason for it. So angry that she’s bringing them to the Resistance even though only a few hours ago that’s all he wanted.

Now he wants…

Rey tilts her head. A few strands of dark hair fall into her eyes with the motion.

…something else.

 _Wait,_ something in him whispers. _Wait for now._

He clenches his jaw. His gaze travels from her face, down to the line of her neck. He hears his heart in his ears. Shoulders, arms, the sun-kissed skin-

“Ben.” She doesn’t sound amused.

“What.”

“Don’t do that.”

He draws his attention back to meet her stare. He doesn’t have it in him to be apologetic—and he wouldn’t mean it.

Rey’s expression takes on a hardness he isn’t used to. Without another word, she brushes past him.

“Let’s load this into the _Falcon.”_

 _Falcon._ The word tugs at something in him, though he doesn’t know what it is.

\--

Rey’s ship is somehow uglier than _The Happabore. The Millennium Falcon_ is ancient, possibly even older than Finn’s cruiser. One of the comm dishes has been replaced by an ill-fitting square model, and every single piece of plating is scored with some carbon marking or another.

She hops off _The Happabore_ first, sending him back a wary glance. He doesn’t acknowledge it, instead he keeps his focus on the worst freighter he’ll ever fly on.

Rey keeps watching him, as if waiting for some sort of reaction.

He gives her one. A simple shrug. “Junk.”

Rey’s eyebrows furrow, as if she was _offended_ by an obvious observation, and she walks forward. “You’d be surprised.”

“Doubt it.”

She shakes her head in aggravation, stopping once she gets to the keypad on the starboard side of the ship. She dials in the security code and the gangway lowers. Rey looks back at _The Happabore_ and a contemplative expression crosses her face—there’s something about it that makes his eyes linger on the curve of her profile.

“I can make it work,” she decides. She gestures with her chin to the left. “Stay over there.”

His brows raise at the definite command, but he makes an exaggerated side-step to follow her orders.

Rey nods.

\--

He’s never seen anything like this before.

Rey stands in the clearing, her eyes closed and her arm extended halfway into the air. At the end of it, her fingers are curled into a loose fist, outstretched and directed at _The Happabore._

At first, he doesn’t understand. If anything he’s annoyed—does she expect him to move things if she just points at them?—but then the cruiser begins to shake. It’s a small movement at first, a gentle rocking from side to side that Ben thinks he must imagine. But then the rocking becomes a rattle, and his eyes widen when the cruiser begins to lift effortlessly from the ground.

He glances back at Rey, but her face is a calm mask; serene. A place of stillness in all the turmoil he’s been experiencing over the last few weeks. He feels his lips part.

 _She’s beautiful. He can’t see her, but he feels her presence next to his own as they lift their arms in sync. She’s beautiful and the one place of certainty he can find in the galaxy and he has never_ wanted _like this before-_

_Rey lets out a startled laugh and the sound of it pulls him. “That actually worked!”_

_“Of course it did,” he agrees. Because it’s the most obvious thing in the universe—they are two halves of something, and together there is_ nothing _that can stop them._

The cruiser slides effortlessly into the cargo bay of her freighter. She hasn’t even broken a sweat, her arm lowering easily to her side as though setting down a pillow.

She’s stronger than what he can remember. His breathing grows heavier.

“You’ve done that before,” he manages.

Rey hesitates, but gives a nod.

His blood is pounding in his ears. Everything in him feels strained.

“I’m going to prep for hypertravel,” Rey says in a distant voice that makes him think that, just maybe, she’s sharing the same memory he’s recovered.

Ben watches her walk up the gangway, and releases a very long breath.

\--

The inside of _The Falcon_ isn’t much better than the exterior. He walks down the halls, eyes catching on every false panel—likely used to hide smuggled goods from the air of the ship. Rey’s still in the cockpit, running diagnostics and test-runs. He has free range of her ship in the meantime.

He walks passed the living quarters, his eyes snagging on an open doorway. There’s nothing remarkable about it—a single, full bed. A workbench with a stack of _Nebulae Crossings_ messily perched on it. But he’s drawn to it, and takes a step inside.

_His hand slides under her shirt, palm pressed against her spine-_

Ben frowns, fingers fidgeting at his side. He’s been in this room before.

He hears the engines turn on with slightly stuttering hums, and decides to head back toward the cockpit.

\--

As soon as the route is planned and entered into the autopilot, Rey gives him a look and tells him she’s going to meditate in her room. It’s clear she means alone, and so he finds himself sitting in the main hold at a table that holds a dusty Dejarik board.

It’s late, or early. Either way he should be attempting to sleep, but there’s something about this ship that gives him an uneasy feeling. He rationalizes that it’s the age of the freighter, and the likelihood that it could justifiably combust at any moment. Ben hasn’t formulated his opinion on the Resistance, but he does know they should invest more credits in their transports.

The main hold is sparse. The table he sits at, a wide space that almost looks like it could be used for a sparring floor, and a few footlockers and cargo containers. He doesn’t have a desire to go through them, or to start up Dejarik—he’s always lacked patience for the long game.

_There’s a low growl._

_“No! Not again, Uncle Chewie!”_

He scowls, the man in the medcenter’s words coming back to him…

_Almost looks like a bowcaster hit_

Ben presses the heel of his hand tightly against his closed eyes, as if willing fatigue into them. But he can’t summon up the desire to feel tired. There’s _too much_ here. It hums under his skin like a current, as thought _The Happabore’s_ circuitry has finally gotten its revenge against him.

_“Ben, don’t touch that-!”_

_His small, pudgy fingers hover over an exposed patch of wiring._

_“Daddy hasn’t baby proofed that part yet—BEN NO, NOT THAT EITHER-!”_

His head’s pounding.

_“Dad either fixes the oxidizer. Or we get blown up.”_

Ben moves as though something else is controlling his movements. With an awkward shift, he slides from the table, and crosses the wide space of the hold. On the far wall, there’s a panel that looks just a little bit newer than the others, a seam of it raised above the rest. Frowning, Ben wedges his fingertips in, and pulls the metal back.

_He’s directly behind the man, eyes taking in a series of tubes and wires._

_“Alright, we’re gonna fix it together. Sound good to you?”_

“Stop,” Ben growls at nothing in particular.

_The smaller version of himself nods. The man grins back, a lop-sided expression._

_“You bet it does. Because you’re gonna be a pilot, just like your old man. And a good pilot keeps his ship in the air. Gimme your hands.”_

Anger rises and builds in him, forming a base like drifting sediment. His knuckles go white where they’re holding open the panel door.

_A set of small, child-sized hands rest underneath a bigger set._

_“Follow me,” the man starts to sing. “Green wire’s connected to the…blue wire! Blue wire’s connected to the—“_

“STOP!” He shouts, head nearly splitting and his body shaking. Ben looks down at the paneling, the old, pale duraplastic coverings on the wires, and shoves the panel door closed. He paces, furiously, across the wide space of the hold-

_“Han, no.” Leia’s voice is stern and resolved._

_“C’mon, it won’t hurt him. Just a few rounds of co-pilot with dad. Even made him a seat, see? Junior Captain-“_

-until the toe of his boot connects with something. He reaches down.

 _“I’m_ bored. _”_

_His uncle sends him an amused smile from across the room. “Why don’t we-?“_

“Practice,” Ben mutters, as he lifts up a grey remote. The training orb is small, and fits easily in his palm. He looks at the small, crystal studs that he knows fire bolts.

_“A few rounds, you’ll feel better.”_

_“Promise, Uncle Luke?”_

_“I promise. I’ll even do a few with you.”_

His thumb rolls over the power switch for the device. It hovers above his palm. Ben squeezes his eyes close-

 _He’s more nervous than he wants to admit. Ben doesn’t know_ why, _because Uncle Luke’s never yelled or embarrassed him. But as he holds his uncle’s lightsaber he knows that he doesn’t want to let him down._

_The remote hovers in the air. Ben watches it spin, before-_

The lightsaber is in his hand and ignited before Ben even thinks about it, blue light washing over the darkness of the room. He gestures with his wrist, and the blade swings up just as the remote fires. There’s a dull pain in his hands as the lightsaber vibrates when it and the shot connect, but he doesn’t have time to process it as the remote fires two more times in rapid succession. Ben follows the moves without pause, his arm moving up, then down. The two bolts die when they hit across the brilliant, blue blade and Ben’s eyes widen-

“Where did you get that?”

His gaze darts up to the entrance of the hold. Rey stands, silhouetted in the light from the main hall, and her expression is furious. Her arms are tensed as though she’s ready to spring at any moment. Predatory. An excited shiver that he knows he shouldn’t feel crawls down his spine.

The remote fires again—he blocks without thinking.

Rey’s lips press into a tighter line. She sends a quick look at the remote and it dies, collapsing with a dull ‘thunk’ to the ground. He can feel her anger through the-

…through the Force. And it’s a powerful and hungry thing.

“Give it back,” she demands, her hand outstretched.

 _No,_ something in him snarls.

Ben’s fingers tighten around the hilt. “It belongs to me.”

“No it doesn’t!”

He almost backs away at the intensity of her statement, at what looks like tears forming in her eyes. Rey’s still angry, but he sense the hurt he didn’t before. The betrayal.

_“Don’t touch him!” She cries in agony, a silver blade flashing in her arms as she moves to stop him._

Numbly, he switches off the ignition. “What is it?” He asks, honestly confused.

Rey blinks back whatever it is that’s hurting her. “Where did you get that lightsaber?” She asks again, less hostile now that it’s disengaged.

Ben stares at her. He lifts it so it’s level with his chest, looks at the grip, the ignition switch. The hint of blue kyber crystal visible from the hilt.

“My…mother,” he manages.

Rey’s breath comes in sharply. “What?”

“Leia. The General. She gave it to me before I left for Naboo.”

Her eyes seem to bore into him. And eventually her lips part with disbelief. “You’re…” she frowns, her eyebrows drawing down to create a small v between her brows. “You’re not lying.”

He shakes his head. “No. What is it?”

Rey stares at the lightsaber in his hands, expression vacant and her thoughts clearly no longer on the present. There’s a moment, a pulse, and then he feels it: grief. More powerful than he’s ever experienced the emotion before.

He steps forward. “Rey?”

At the sound of her name, her attention returns to the moment and she takes a frantic step back. “I-“

“Tell me.”

She shakes her head, and before he can stop her, turns and exits the hold.

He watches her leave, not sure what he else he can do.

\--

He tries to go back to his room and sleep after that. Fails. His mind is too _cluttered,_ swarming with thoughts and feelings that he isn’t sure are his own. Two hours pass, and he tosses back the sheets of his guest bed (still too short for him) off with a frustrated sigh.

He runs his hand through his unbraided hair. Scowls at the wall that separates him from Rey.

And gets up.

\--

He doesn’t knock. Doesn’t feel the need to—there’s a familiarity with this room and this ship that stalls such urges. Instead, he goes through the door. He’s not sure _why._ He just knows that he needs to-

Rey is asleep in the center of her bed. On the far wall of her room, the holovid is playing an old, grainy episode of _Nebulae’s Crossing._ He sends it a cursory look, before turning his attention back to Rey.

She’s on top of the sheets, face troubled and arms curled up against her chest. Her boots still on, making it clear that she wasn’t intending to drift off. Ben’s body seems to move independent of his mind, as he kneels down to take one off. Then the other. Without waiting for permission, and not knowing why it feels familiar, he lays down next to her on the bed. He rests on his back, folding his hands over his stomach and looking at the ceiling.

The buzzing in his thoughts simmers to a quiet.

Just as he’s about to nod off, he feels her move. Rey inches forward in her sleep, one of her legs moving to rest over his. He tenses. She comes closer, until her cheek rests on his chest and her head is tucked underneath his chin.

Hesitantly, he moves his arm in what is a deceptively well-practiced motion to hook around her waist. He senses her consciousness break somewhat away from sleep, and when she doesn’t pull away he relaxes.

Through the bond, he feels sleep hover around both of their minds. But then she mutters something around a half-awake sigh that makes his blood go cold.

“Kylo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY BYE


	14. Kylo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings this chapter for...fight!makeouts, I guess is the best way to describe it :'|. Thank you everyone for your comments on the last chapter, ilu all and wrote fast just for you! <3

\--

 **Rey.**  
\--  
  
She wakes up and decides to get breakfast early. It’s something of a shock to see Kylo already seated at the table, staring down at the metal surface of the food station as if it has stolen an astromech from him. Rey hesitates for a moment outside the threshold of the mess. Last time they had spoken he held Luke’s lightsaber in his hand…

“Afraid of me?” He asks the food station sourly.

She purses her lips at that. “Hardly.” And pushes from the wall, making confident steps toward the processing unit. It’s full of the bland, near-flavorless porridge Luke had favored making during their time on Ahch-To—she’s grown fond of it. She presses a few buttons in a well-rehearsed movement, absently grabbing her spoon and biting down on it in her mouth.

“Want some?”

He continues to glare at the table. “No.”

She sends him a furtive look, before giving a small shrug and pulling the lever of the processor. The porridge plops into her bowl with a soft movement. She keeps her hands steady and her posture calm. Relaxed. Ben has no idea why seeing him with Luke’s lightsaber would be upsetting. And Rey doesn’t want to give him an indication. Not yet.

She withdraws the spoon from her mouth and gives it a customary stir. “We’re about four hours from Tatooine,” she informs him, not sure what to make of the uncomfortable silence.

“Twelve.”

“…Four.”

“ _Twelve._ I shut off the autopilot.”

She sets down her metal bowl with an aggravated clang. “Why would you do that?!”

“Does it seem out of character?” He questions around a clenched jaw.

Rey narrows her eyes. “So you want us to drift in space to prove some sort of point, is that it?”

He looks up to glare at her. She glares right back. With an annoyed exhale, she moves to the small table in the center of the mess, setting down her bowl and pulling out her chair with a loud _scrape_ that she hopes annoys him. Then she makes mechanical work of shoving as much porridge into her mouth as she can, as quickly as she can.

“What are you doing,” he demands in disgust.

“ _Eating._ ” She lifts the bowl up to her lips, pours the porridge in the crannies of the bowl into her mouth. She swallows, her grip on her spoon white-knuckled. “I don’t miss breakfast.”

“I tried some. That’s not breakfast.”

She rubs the back of hand across her lips. “Then don’t have any.” She gets up in order to aggressively put her dishes in the washer.

His lips are almost white with the strain of how tightly they’re pressed together. His hands are fists on the table. It’s as though he’s about to burst from whatever it is he has to say.

She shakes her head before she starts striding out of the mess. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to reprogram the autopilot.”

“Rey.”

Her back to him, she looks up. “ _What._ ”

She feels his eyes pinned to the place between her shoulder blades.

“We need to talk.”

Rey’s mouth goes slightly dry. “About what?”

“Last night you called me Kylo.”

  
\--  
**Ben.**  
\--

She’s not like his mother, Ben decides. Rey doesn’t know how to hide things the same way as the others. As soon as he says the name, her body locks up. Her shoulders square, the line of her neck to spine becomes rigid. He sees the muscles of arms flex before she takes a noticeable breath.

“When?” She says in disbelief.

He keeps staring at her back. “In your sleep.”

“…You were listening to me in my sleep.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s the point!” She turns on her heel. Her hazel eyes are wide in disbelief and maybe anger. “Were you in my room?”

He tries to exercise patience. Keeps himself rooted to his chair. “It’s not the first time.”

Her lips part. “What in the Force are you on about?”

“I’ve been in your bed before, haven’t I.”

“ _No_.”

“Liar.”

“This is the first time we’ve even been in the same room in years-“

He slams his fist on the table. “ _Liar._ ”

Rey takes a breath, her face flushed with anger and the heel of her hand pressed into the bridge of her nose. “Tell me what you remember.” She looks up, eyes glinting with barely repressed frustration. “Which is _not_ being in my bed, by the way.”

Tired of her denying what he knows is the truth, Ben stands up. He storms over to her, grabbing her by the bicep. “Come on.”

“Let go of my arm.”

He does. “ _Now._ ”

She glares, crossing her arms over her chest. “ _Fine._ ”

He goes, hearing her reluctantly follow.

\--

“My room,” she observes with acid, “What a surprise.”

“I’ve _been here,_ ” he states. Frantically, he tries to find the memory that resurfaced last night.

 _The room is dark but for the low, green light coming from behind an old piece of wall paneling. He knows it has to be_ The Falcon, _because the disrepair is remarkably customized._

“It was late.”

 _She’s half laying on him, the sheets from the bed wrapped around her legs. He takes a moment to just stare at her profile, to feel the strands of her hair between his fingers. To enjoy the rare moment where she’s_ still _and_ with him—

“You were asleep. I was…” He frowns, because something doesn’t add up between his memory and the emotions with it. “I missed you.”

“Ben…” She says softly.

_\--she’s starting to wake up. Panic hits him, because once she wakes up she’s going to—_

“I didn’t want you to send me away. But I knew you were going to.”

_“Don’t.” He tries to issue an order, though he knows that has never had the effect he desired with her. Once again she’s made him beg, and there’s some shame in his flaw. There’s always too many flaws in him when it comes to the girl from Jakku. “Don’t move.”_

“You made me feel weak.”

Rey is silent, her eyes trained to a spot on the floor.

_She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to look at him, a familiar expression that sends a jolt of pain every time. “You need to go.”_

_It’s a consistency that he hates—she runs, he follows. She sends him away, only for him to return. All they have are moments of intersection and it’s not enough. Not anymore. And he’s tired of being patient, waiting for her to realize that they are not_ meant _to be apart any more than mass drawn in by gravity. Anger makes his throat tighten. She has to know. She has to understand what she’s done to both of them. “You know this is how it’s supposed to be.”_

_“I don’t know anything.”_

_Liar-_

“Liar…” Ben exhales. He turns to look at her, his expression pained. “You sent me away that night. Again.”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Why.”

Rey closes her eyes. When she looks up, her face is in a carefully neutral expression. They are anything but neutral. “You never gave me a choice to do anything else.”

His throat feels too tight to swallow. “Explain.”

“We were enemies,” there is a slight hitch to her words. “You tried to kill-“

“I wouldn’t have killed you,” he protests, sharp and immediate.

“Ben, you can’t remember how it was-“

“I loved you!” He snarls.

Everything about Rey seems to stop moving. Her arms fall slack at her side, her skin pales. Without a word, she takes a step backward out of the room.

“Rey.”

She sends him a wary look before sighing, and starts to walk away.

“Rey!”

“I’m getting another bowl of porridge!” She snaps from down the hall.

_“Not there,” she says curtly. Before he realizes what it is that she’s trying to do, her fingers lock around his wrist. Her skin is warm against his, as if she carries the heat from her backwater planet with her. He looks at her, suspicious and uneasy. No one’s ever dared to correct him like this before. Her fingers trace across the veins of his wrist, angling it. It would be easy enough for her to kill him now. Just a little more pressure there—“Less splatter.”_

_He looks down at the blubbery corpse of the cannock, and wonders when she thinks about anything more sophisticated than_ food.

In the distance, he hears the processor start up again.

\--

They sit across from each other at the table. Rey has not only managed to fill her bowl with another round of the foul, grey food, but also uncovered a half-consumed bottle of Corellian brandy. The stopper is off and she takes a liberal swig of it between each bite.

He narrows his eyes when he reads the label of the alcohol. It’s the same kind Leia used to order at Maz’s place.

“You’re going to have to talk to me.”

Rey takes a longer drink.

“Rey.”

“ _Stop_ ,” she manages, and when she sets the bottle down with a little more force than necessary.

“Stop what?”

“Saying my name like that.” She shakes her head. “You’re not…you’re not the same person you were before.”

“That upsets you,” he realizes.

“I don’t know if it upsets me.” She rests her forehead on the table. “It shouldn’t.”

“I was Kylo Ren.” As soon as it leaves his mouth he knows it for a fact. Pieces begin to slide into place—the wariness, the simmering hostility from Finn and Kes. If they were Resistance, that would have made them his enemy.

And if Rey is a Jedi…

“If we talk about this,” Rey starts, her voice taking on a bit of an exhausted tremble, “Can you promise me something?”

“What.”

“Listen to all of it,” she pauses, lifting her head. Her eyes are bright—again he’s struck by his attraction to her. One that makes more and less sense with every piece of their history he can uncover. “And wait for at least a day before you do anything.”

Ben leans back in his chair, arms crossing his chest. “That means not returning to the Resistance for that long.”

She gives a reluctant nod.

His fingers tighten on his biceps. “And if I don’t do what you want?”

Rey’s hand rests on the holster on her shoulder. “…I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

She doesn’t deny it. Instead she finishes her gruel with calm hands. Once she’s finished, the spoon hitting the empty bowl makes an echoing noise around the mess.

“It might be easier,” she whispers, “If you ask and I answer.”

Ben looks at her, mentally traces the lines of her face, before he nods.

“How did we meet.”

Rey looks up and takes a drink. “You kidnapped me.”

His brows draw down. “Kidnapped.”

“To get to the map that leads to Luke Skywalker.”

“Why would I need a map to my uncle?”

Rey gives him a strange look. And passes him the brandy.

\--  
She tells him about Kylo Ren, a high-ranking member of the First Order. What he did to the Jedi temple. What he wanted to do to his uncle. And mother. What he did do to Han Solo.

_Red wire blue wire green wire_

Ben drinks, eyes unfocused as he stares at a distant spot on the wall.

Her voice is soft and he hates it. “…We can talk about the rest tomorrow.”

He stares and he stares, until his eyes feel as though they are burning red. “ _No._ ”

\--

“Where did I get the scar on my side?”

“Chewbacca. After you killed Han.”

He swallows. Raises a hand to his face. “And this one?”

She meets his eyes and doesn’t look ashamed. “Me.”

\--

It’s been a few hours, and they are on their second bottle of brandy when she tells him about where it started to change.

“Most of your memories of us are from Jagomir.”

Ben wracks his mind, already feeling fuzzy from the drink, for the name of the planet. Comes up blank. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because it’s a swamp of nothing.” Rey takes another drink. Her cheeks are flushed red. “I shot you down and you broke my X-Wing in half.” She points a finger at him. “Like an _idiot._ ”

“Why?”

“You wanted a rematch.” She rolls her eyes. “Near-death and you still wanted to fight me.”

“I wish I could remember why.”

“I can guess.” She leans a little too much to one side. “Superiority complex.”

His voice drops. “I don’t think that was it.”

Rey sends him a wary look, before taking another drink. “We were there for a few weeks. Then we went our separate ways.”

There’s something he thinks she’s hiding, but he doesn’t call attention to it. Not yet. For now, he just listens.

“Then what?”

Rey slumps in her seat. Her hand on the bottle and her expression twisted with a dull, old pain. After a few moments, she shakes her head.

“I’ll…” Rey bites down on her lower lip. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Tomorrow,” she insists. Then her eyes harden as she stares at him. “Remember your promise. One day before you…”

Ben gives a small nod.

Rey watches him, then without another word, she stands and retreats to her quarters.

Ben doesn’t follow her. Instead he stares at a half-empty bottle.

It’s clear that Rey doesn’t understand why Kylo made the choices he made.  
Ben’s thumb scrapes at the label.  
He can’t help but feel like Kylo must have had his reasons.

\--

The rest of the day passes in a fog. He tries to think about Kylo Ren, what it means to have been him, and what he wants to do next. He has a scar across his face from the woman he loved, and he killed the husband of the woman who gave him a lightsaber. His head spins, frustration and the cresting waves of _almost_ echoing around in his skull.

He almost has the truth.  
He almost remembers who he was.

But there’s still gaps. There’s knowing and feeling and the two of them seem at odds. And he doesn’t know if he wants more, but feels compelled to follow the journey Rey has started him on. Ever since he saw her standing in the warehouse, her eyes bright and her cheek unscared.

If there’s anything he is sure about, it’s that he still has feelings for the Jedi.

Ben spends the day doing work on _The Happabore._ He does his best to replace wiring systems and panelings, to sand down rivets and reupholster the seats. It’s tedious, mind-numbing work but it’s all he wants.  He repairs and upgrades, until it feels like his fingers are about to fall from his hand.

And then he feels _her,_ tugging at the edges of his senses.

Like always, he feels compelled to follow.

­--

She’s in another part of the cargo bay. It’s a wide, open space—Ben eyes it and can mentally count the number of hauler containers it can hold (four). He follows her signature in the Force until he sees her.

She’s standing on the far side of the wall, wearing a thin tank top and form-fitting leggings. Her hair is up in the half-bun, sweat beading on her brow, neck, and chest. In her hand is an ignited lightsaber. One end of it is silver-

_“The balance is off.”  
“That’s because it doesn’t need an exhaust.”_

-the other is a bright, crackling red.

_He holds the crystal in the palm of his hand._

_“It belonged to Darth Vader,” his Master says. “Your grandfather.”_

She extends the arm holding it up until it’s level with her chest, and extends the weapon outward. The saberstaff dips from one side to the other, lazy movements that betray her familiarity with the blades. In a moment, she’s moving—bare feet almost gliding across the floor and muscles lightly straining from the exertion of going through lightsaber forms.

Juyo, he thinks with clarity. The Ferocity Form is what she favors. He prefers Niman.

She runs, closing her eyes and turning into a half-flip, her lightsaber swinging in a circle at her side—Ataru. Acrobatics. Her motions are effortless and rehearsed, deliberate.

 _As she advances, she swings the lightsaber from side to side like it’s a cleaver. Hacking and stabbing—no form, no training. But power—_ anger. _He shoves her attack away, sending her spiraling with her back to him. He waits until she turns to face him before he swings again—_

She spins the lightsaber in a slow arc, gradually making it go faster and faster. Until the lights of her blades become a circle, until red and silver merge together.

 _The light from their weapons bathes her face in purple. He presses down until her back arches, her boots slipping in the snow. The ground underneath crumbles and falls away, splitting under the destruction of the Starkiller. His side is screaming in pain and his body is coated in sweat, but he doesn’t feel it in the face of this adrenaline. He’s found her. It doesn’t matter that she’s young, that she’s blunt and ignorant to the power that’s been sleeping in her for so long. He can offer her that, he can_ fix _her—she doesn’t need to be alone. He doesn’t need to be unchallenged and stagnant._

_Her attention is on the blades. He only looks at her._

_“You need a teacher!”_

_Her gaze shifts from where their weapons are joined to his face. Her lips part in confusion._

_He presses, not caring that there’s a slight desperation in his tone. “I can show you the ways of the Force!”_

_He watches her as she blinks, whispers back his own words. Waits for her to see what he sees, to understand what he knows they both need._

There’s an electric, muted sound that breaks his mind from the memory, and Ben blinks to see that Rey’s disengaged her lightsaber. And that she’s staring straight at him.

“What is it?” She asks, grabbing the edge of her tank top and lifting it to wipe away the sweat. Ben’s eyes train on the pale line that is drawn across her stomach. A scar that matches his own.

“Fight me,” he breathes.

She slowly lowers down the edge of her shirt, a frown on her face. “What?”

He straightens, clearing his throat and slipping off his boots. One of his hands goes to the spot on his utility belt where the lightsaber hangs. _His_ lightsaber… Rey was using it in the memory. He’s sure of it.

“Just a spar.”

Rey’s frown deepens.

To nudge her decision along, he pulls the lightsaber from his side and ignites it. With an easy swing that’s more muscle memory than conscious thought, he rotates his wrist in a lazy circle, until the blade points at the floor of _The Falcon._

Her eyes widen in recognition and it pleases him. She takes a few, long steps to the side that he mimics, and eventually they’re circling one another.

Her thumb hovers over the ignition switch. “Do you remember the last time we fought?”

“No.” Anticipation burns in his chest. “I remembered the first.”

Her lips part. “In the snow?”

“Yes.”

“You lost that one.”

“I know.”

Her head tilts to the side, and gradually she pushes the switch. The two, clashing colors emerge. “If I win, you give back that lightsaber.”

“You’ve stolen it before.”

“It wasn’t ever yours.”

_“That belongs to me!”  
“Take better care of it, this time.”_

He flicks his wrist in another lazy circle. “It was.” He narrows his eyes in thought. “It was…before Kylo. Luke gave it to him—me.”

Rey’s pain is a visceral thing at the mention of her—his?—master. “Then you’d better win,” she manages.

“What do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

 _You._ He barely stills his tongue from saying it out loud. “Help me train in lightsaber combat.”

“No.”

“…while I’m with the Resistance.”

She gives him a long, assessing stare. Their weapons hum in the empty space of the hold. “ _Only_ when we’re with the Resistance.”

He gives a strained nod.

Their eyes meet for half a second before she moves.

Rey brings up the silver end of her lightsaber, bringing it down in a messy slash. When he blocks it with little effort, she brings up the red side instead, a quick seesaw of a motion aimed for underneath his chin. His body runs on instinct, as he flips his grip and blocks it just as easily as the first.

Rey pulls back, stalking.

He mimics. The fire in his chest has spread to his ears, his throat. He’s been wanting this—to face her again after she’s been trained by a Master. Even if the Master, foolishly, wasn’t him.

“Kylo.”

“Yes?”

He doesn’t understand her expression until he realizes he answered to the wrong name. But right now, he doesn’t care. His mind is instead focused on her—the lines of her body, the volatile energy that lives and grows underneath her skin. It’s been so long since he’s had someone to match him, challenge him. No one’s been able to do it the way the scavenger has-

She strikes again, this time a little faster, a little better aimed. He deflects them both before trading some of his own—heavy, slower strikes that have more strength behind them. One aimed at her shoulder, the other the side of her ribs.

She evades the first, blocks the second. “We should stop this.” Her words are cautious. It’s clear she’s still unnerved by him answering to Kylo, maybe by the comfort he has with his old lightsaber.

“But we’re not going to,” he promises. He lifts his arm up, rotating his shoulder as his lightsaber descends in a labored movement to her neck.

Rey kicks him in the stomach before it’s close enough for her to block. He coughs as the air is knocked out of him, takes a step back.

Barely has time to deflect the silver blade that comes too near his eyes.

“If we’re doing this, no Force powers,” Rey’s eyes are bright and focused, her pupils slightly dilated from adrenaline.

He nods. The fire in his chest is an inferno that sates the ache in his gut. Makes him want more. “Then you fight will all your ability.”

She stares up at him through slightly lidded eyes. “Fine.”

Rey rotates her shoulders, her lightsaber following the movement as she brings it to a fast spin around her side, behind her back, and to the other side. He barely has time to shift his guard before she’s aiming at his ribs in a flurry of movement. Silver-red-silver-red—the two colors has a disorienting effect that makes it difficult to time. He brings his lightsaber up in a horizontal jab, the blue cutting through them and making her pull slightly back or lose the handle of her weapon—

_The burgundy lightsaber cuts through her weapon, and Rey is on her knees. He’s helpless, unable to watch as the Zabrak aims to piece through her shoulder_

He staggers, his memory forcing him to dive out of the way or catch Rey’s blade in his arm. Ben looks at her, slightly bewildered, but the memory fades to the back of his mind as quickly as it came. He wants to win. He wants to keep fighting with her.

She spins her lightsabers over her head before ducking into a crouch and jabbing the end of the silver blade at his knees. He jumps over them, aware that his height is a disadvantage against the Ataru form. Rey swings back up to a kneel, her hands sliding to one end of the grip and angling up the other side to catch him in the chest.

 He leans away, using his height to swing down at her instead. She pivots from where she bends, turning off her lightsaber and jabbing him in the stomach with the metal hilt that is still warm.

“You’ll have to be faster.”

He grabs her forearm. Her face registers surprise for half a second before she twists out of the hold, reigniting her weapon on the way and throwing the blade out in a messy movement that is easy to avoid. In retaliation, he lashes out in semi-circle motions, flatting them into a clean line once she dodges them both.

Rey lets out a small cry of exertion as she gives a jump, tossing her saberstaff behind her head before bringing it down in an overarching slap. He ducks and turns, holding his lightsaber in a reverse grip and aiming it at her back as she recovers her landing.

She’s too fast. Her punch catches him just above the hip and he winces-

-so does she. Rey slows, horror blossoming on her face as an obvious thought occurs to her.

He’s not going to give her the opportunity to stop this fight. His swings become more erratic, angry and fast. She changes her offense to defense, dodging them just a little faster than he can attack. “Kylo—Ben! Hold on-!”

“ _No._ ”

“You don’t know about the—“

He turns off his lightsaber in order to bring his arm across her chest. The movement sends her falling to the ground, her back pressed against the floor and his body on top of hers. So he doesn’t hurt her, he moves his arm from her chest, planting his hand by the side of her head and using it to support his body weight. Her eyes glare up at him, brown in this light and full of anger that he wants to see her _use._

“I know about the bond, Rey.” He states as calmly as he can even though there’s a fire in his chest and his thoughts are hard to form. The hand not supporting his weight splays out across her stomach, his thumb edging up the hem of her tank top. His fingertips ghost over the line there, trace the scar that _someone_ put there. He notices the way she shifts her hips at his touch, angles them upward slightly. “Who did this?”

She looks up at him. “Mjurgo Ren.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He pulls away until he sits, her knees and shins underneath him. Then he lifts the edge of his own shirt. So she can see. Understand. “We thought you might have…”

“I didn’t,” she whispers, “Clearly.” She pushes herself back, until she’s resting on her elbows. Her hand reaches out to touch the scar, but she hesitates, her fingers curling back into her palm.

“Go ahead.”

Rey sends him a wary look, but her fingers touch the skin of his abdomen. Follow the pattern they share. She lightly pushes her palm flat against his stomach and he closes his eyes-

And she withdraws her knees, sending a kick right into his chest.

He topples backward, and she’s straddling him before he can move again. Her knees squeezed on either sides of his hips, her forearm drawn across his throat.

_She shoves the end of his lightsaber into the snow, sparks flying. He tries to break her hold on him, but he can’t._

_She swings up, and blinding pain fills his senses as the lightsaber digs into his shoulder and up across his face. He falls on his back, and she stands over him. Her chest heaving, eyes bright with barely restrained rage. His lips part in awe and he does not know why he doesn’t feel defeated._

She moves the arm across his throat in order to grab the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t have time to register what’s happening before her lips crash against his. Her teeth bite his lower lip and he groans, sliding his hand underneath the thin fabric covering her back, tracing the ridges of her spine with his palm. There are slight bumps and waxy skin from scars, and he wants to feel _all of them._ Trace each marring with his fingers to learn everything she doesn’t tell him.

He becomes consciously aware of her weight on his hips, the way her knees press tighter. Her fingers are still holding his collar, but her other hand smooths down his chest, rests on his stomach over the scar-

Ben flips their position, so that her body is once again supine underneath him. Then he presses kisses behind her ear, down her jaw and neck. Her legs shift to wrap around him and the fire in his chest ignites. He moves the strap of her shirt down to kiss her bare shoulder, unable to smother a groan when the hand on his stomach starts to move over his side and up his back. Her touch, too, lingers over his scars. Their places of intersection.

He brings his mouth back to hers, using one of his hands to cradle the back of her head so it doesn’t hit the ground. She cranes her neck and back, causing her hips to rise again and he lets out a hiss against her lips and presses his weight down-

The sound and movement make her pause. He closes his eyes. _Damn it._

Rey breaks their kiss with a reluctance he wasn’t expecting. Her hand falls from his back to the space beside her on the floor.

“…I need to go,” she whispers. Her anger and adrenaline from before gone. Instead there’s a careful neutrality that he hates hearing from her.

“Rey.”

“You win the spar,” she manages, before she gives a gentle push on his chest.

He sighs, rolling to the side so she can go, angrily running his hand through his hair. “What is it?”

“I forgot myself. I-I’m sorry. This isn’t-”

“ _Fair_?” He bares his teeth with the question. "To Ben or to Kylo?"

Instead of answering, she sends him an understanding look that he doesn’t know if he appreciates or hates. Then she picks up her lightsaber and walks away, her bare feet making light echoes that grow softer and softer.

He watches her go, before slamming his hand against the ground.


	15. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE NO CHILL

\--  
**Rey.**  
\--

She doesn’t want to see him.

It’s childish, she knows. And almost impossible to avoid someone on a ship that’s stalled out in space. But it’s true. She wants to run, but part of their deal was that no one gets to do that for a while.

Rey sits on the floor of her quarters, her legs folded and the backs of her palms resting on her thighs. Meditation isn’t a long-term substitute for sleep, but on nights like this it’s the only alternative. Her mind’s too scattered for anything else.

…He had answered to Kylo. Fought like Kylo.

And she doesn’t know why that makes her feel _good_. Kylo Ren was a monster. There is so much that he’s done that she hasn’t forgiven him for. So much that she’ll _never_ forgive him for. But he’s also the man she’s shared a mind with, who saved her life and let her go again and again even when it worked against his desires.

She doesn’t share anything Ben Kanata. She doesn’t _know_ Ben Kanata.

Only what she’s seen in the visions shown to her by Aalto. The ones with the awkward, lonely mechanic who worked by himself in empty warehouses fixing carburetors that were better off as scrap. She remembers her vision in the cave on Moraband, how the Dark Side had presented her with an image of Ben as he is now—outside the war, without the affiliation of the Dark Side or Snoke. Ben is someone who could come back to the Resistance. That Leia could have back. That Rey could _be_ with, one day. Maybe.

Kylo Ren isn’t.

She sighs, running a hand through her hair as she attempts to re-center herself. There has to be something wrong with her, to miss the man who kidnapped and tried to kill her.

Who apparently loved her.

Rey tries to banish the thought from her mind, but it anchors. She remembers Ben’s face when he said it—it was a memory, not a guess. Kylo Ren had _loved_ her before she’d…

A part of her knew it, then too. Because not loving anything is a luxury _._ And it’s a luxury neither of them really had.

Rey bites down hard on her lip.

The temptation is there, to enter the flow. To follow this path and see where it ends. But the ability has always left her wary—Aalto was a walking testament to the damage flow-walking could do. And every step she takes down paths comes with its own ripple and echo. She’s kept her ability tempered in that respect, only following those who she can afford to lose—the Knights of Ren she knew: Janara, Soran. Hoping to find some lead on Aalto, but the man was more experienced than her in hiding his presence in the tides of the flow.

But it’s tempting to look for Ben’s path. To see where it intersects with her own. She needs to know that she’s making the right choice.

Rey closes her eyes. Hears her breathing even out…

\--

At first it starts as it should. She searches for Kylo’s threads, and it doesn’t take her long to find them.

She sees him in the desert, dressed in Jedi robes and a scowl as he makes his way through the skeleton of a Star Destroyer to rescue a scavenger. Sees him growing up on Yavin IV, watching with interest as the new padawan with three buns in her hair struggles to sit still during the meditation sessions. Sees him clad head to toe in finery as he addresses the senate, his Jedi bodyguard standing behind him with her hand on the hilt of her lightsaber. Sees him still on Jagomir, a scruffy beard on his face and the empty Rebel base teeming with ghosts. Sees him dying in the sands of Moraband, watching as Rey leaves him to chase after a pale man with murder in her eyes. Sees him as a mechanic, staring up at engine lights and feeling more alone than ever.

She follows the last one. Sees him getting tossed from side to side in junker pirate vessels. Sees Maz chiding him for faulty repairs while serving him a hot meal. Feels his resentment and irritation every time the General comes to Maz’s and asks questions he doesn’t know the answers to. Sees his genuine affection for Kes as the older man buys him a round and takes his money in pazaak. Feels him wonder why no one’s come looking for him yet.

Rey walks forward.

Then she sees him near death in the hands of Graal, watches as he sneaks a comm hail to Finn. Feels his anticipation as _The Happabore_ finally lifts off the surface of Takodana, knowing he doesn’t ever have to come back. Her eyes tear up once she sees him arrive on Tatooine, when Leia’s hand offers him Luke’s first lightsaber.

Then the paths diverge.

Rey looks at them both, two strands caught in currents that haven’t happened yet. She steels herself before choosing one, her mind travelling down one of the forks-

-and Rey is pulled into somewhere else.

\--

She’s in the ruins. The stones forming the half-crumbled walls a chalky grey. The grass is damp under her bare feet—it must have rained.

The sensation makes Rey look down, something unsettled entering her when she realizes that she’s in her training clothes. Her hair is down on her neck and back, not up in the three buns that she usually sports in these visions.

“Luke?”

He doesn’t answer.

Rey takes a few steps forward. “Luke?”

The half-formed walls and crumbling monuments frame her on either side—almost as though she’s walking through a processional. In her head, she hears old, faded whispers—they are kin to the ghosts on Dantooine, the malevolent forces on Moraband. The loss is old here, and it’s growing louder in a way it never did when she was in training on the island.

There’s a hooded figure at the other side of the ruins, wearing an old grey robe. Rey relaxes, her shoulders slumping and her feet moving forward. Mud coats her toes, ankles, and the sides of her calves. Her hair begins to plaster itself to her skin in the humidity—it might rain again.

“Luke?” She asks once more, reaching out her hand to grab his shoulder.

The figure turns and she recoils.

The skull mask that she knows belongs to Aalto looks back at her. He brings a finger up to his metal lips. “You’ve kept this secret very well, Rey. Very well.”

She immediately backs away, heart thudding in her chest and eyes wide. “What are you doing here?!”

“I’ve been waiting for you to walk down his path. I was expecting it to happen sooner.” The Knight of Ren folds his hands on his stomach, taking a few short steps between the stones. He follows the curve of the cliff behind him, and it crosses Rey’s mind to shove him over. “And I wasn’t expecting it to lead us here.” He makes a swooping motion with his arm. “This is _your_ ocean, isn’t it? The real one.” He leans his hooded head back, as if to face the sun. She hears him take a deep inhale through his mask. “This is where you feel safest in the universe.”

Her fingertips press tightly against her palms. “Where’s Luke?”

“Why are you looking for a dead man in the future.”

“Where’s Luke!”

Aalto ignores her. Instead he takes another deep breath. His shoulders loosen. It would be nothing, to push him over the edge. Watch his body topple over- “Rey, I told you to wait for it,” he chides in a distracted way. “This place is not the end of our story together.”

“We don’t’ have a story.”

“Of course we do.” He lowers his head and turns back to her. She doesn’t flinch or withdraw as he takes a step closer, but the temptation is there. “Why are you looking for a dead man, Rey.”

“What have you done to him?” She whispers.

His masked head tilts, as if to ask _me_?. Instead of an answer, he says something that causes her stomach to spoil. “I’ve missed you, Rey.” He waves his hand. “Here, in this place. No one else has ever been able to travel the paths with me, did you know that?”

“I don’t care.”

“You do,” his voice goes soft, almost tender. “Because how else are you going to kill me, Rey?”

She blinks back tears, though she doesn’t know why they’re forming in her eyes. “Where is Luke.”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not the one who hid him here.”

Her gaze focuses sharply onto his. “What are you talking about?”

“Yes!” Aalto’s arms raise up. “Yes, you’re almost there Rey!” He chuckles, the sound reverberating behind the mask. “I bet you hear it now. I bet it sings.”

Her head is starting to pound. She doesn’t realize Aalto stands right in front of her until his finger curls underneath her chin.

“Do you remember our first bargain, Rey?”

Suddenly she feels drained. Unable to move.  He tilts her face up.

“I offered my help, as long as you came with when Luke asked.”

Her brows furrow as a migraine blossoms—an ache behind her eyes.

“Where did Luke ask you to go, Rey?”

“Home,” she whispers before she can stop.

He lets out his short, raspy laugh. “Then that’s where I’ll wait.”

 _Rey_.

She turns, Aalto’s hand sliding away. Only the old rocks are behind her.

“He’s not supposed to be here,” Aalto snarls.

Rey frowns. Takes a step forward. The edge grows closer.

 _Rey_.

“You’ll have to kill him,” Aalto promises—a hint of mania in his words. “You’ll have to kill him, Rey!”

Another step.

 _Rey_?

She looks over the precipice.

_Rey!_

And leans forward, until she topples off the cliffside.

\--

They’re in a room. _Their_ room. She feels like she’s been here before. He sits on a bed with wrinkled sheets in front of her, looking up with his dark eyes burning and his lips slightly parted.

She falls to her knees in front of him, bringing her hands to hover near his temples.

“Are you ready?” She murmurs.

Instead of an answer, he just presses his lips to the inside of her wrist, eyes sliding shut.

_Listen to the whispers, Rey. Watch the stars, one by one by one._

Rey listens until they make a song. And then she _pulls-_

  
\--

  
Back on the _Falcon,_ she opens her eyes.

Kylo stands in her doorway, his face set into a scowl. “You didn’t answer.”

She looks down at her legs. They’re covered in mud. She blinks, shaken. “I was…meditating.”

“We’re not done,” he says with a clipped tone.

Her mind is going a million directions. Ahch-To. Luke. Aalto. The mud. Going home. She tries to shake her head, but the thoughts don’t clear out. “What?”

“What happened in the cargo hold,” he walks in as if this is his own room, and part of her bristles at that. But she doesn’t have a chance to unfold from her meditation positon before he is crouched down in front of her, his elbows resting on his knees. “You don’t get to walk away like that. Not anymore.”

She looks up at him. “We need to get back to the Resistance. _Now._ ”

His dark eyes glare at her. “You made a promise.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I need to break it.”

“Why.”

_I bet you hear it now._

“I think Aalto is going there.”

Kylo has no reaction. Rey pushes herself into a stand, scrambling to run toward the _Falcon’s_ controls. It’s barely a second before she hears him running after her.

“Who’s Aalto?” He asks in annoyance.

Rey’s fingers dance across the controls. She slides into the pilot’s chair, and gestures for Kylo to take the co-pilot’s. He hesitates for a moment, his fingers tightening on the backs of the headrests and his back hunching as though in pain. But whatever it is passes, and he slumps into Chewbacca’s old spot.

“I’ve been chasing him for three years.”

“Why?” He asks tightly.

She flips a switch. “So I can kill him.”

 _The Falcon_ whirs to life.

Kylo frowns as the lights begin to streak around them. “You owe me a day, Rey. And an explanation about what happened after Jagomir.”

She looks out the viewport, her heart in her throat. “I know.” The ship begins to pull forward. “But I can’t take a chance that they’ll be attacked.” Her hands fumble a little as she rapidly types an encoded message to the Resistance’s channel. It’s outdated, but she hopes that Finn will see it anyway—a standard warning to maintain alert guards.

“So you’re not going to tell me,” he translates, irritation and anger in every syllable.

Her movements still.

_I bet it sings.  
Listen to the whispers, Rey._

 “…I think I might be able to do better,” she mutters, head pounding.

Kylo shifts, until he leans over her. “Really.”

“Come with me to the Resistance,” Rey offers, the headache now a white and blinding pain behind her eyes. “And I think I’ll be able to help you remember on your own.”

He sends her a look she doesn’t know how to decipher, before the _Falcon_ jumps back into hyperspace.

 

\--  
**Ben.**  
\--

He wants to believe she isn’t lying to him. Through the bond, he doesn’t think she is. But what he remembers about Rey, and how she’s been acting since he found her again, makes him doubt. The last leg of spaceflight has been spent entirely by her side—eating the glop she processes, listening as she lectures him on the lightsaber forms before she, too, identifies his preferred fighting style as Niman. But there’s an anxiousness about her, and it forms an anxiousness in him, too.

She broke their bargain. He knows it’s not the first thing between them that she’s ended.

“Tell me about Kylo,” he demands, because if nothing else he thinks she can manage that.

Rey is in a handstand before him, muscles stretched taught and one leg extend with the other folded. “What about him?” She asks with an edge.

“What you thought about him.”

She closes her eyes before gently kicking her feet down to the ground. Rey doesn’t bother to stand, instead taking out the tie in her hair. Ben takes a moment to appreciate the way the dark strands frame her before she twists it back into a knot. “What I thought about him…”

“Yes.”

Rey looks up, and there is something deeply vulnerable and intimate about the way she seems to stare straight into him, through him. “I thought he was lonely.”

He sits next to her without an invitation, but she doesn’t bristle or move away. The edge of his knee presses against hers, close without being invasive. “Do you…” _want him here instead of me,_ “Miss him?”

Rey leans back on her hands. Her silence strains and pulls at him. “Yes,” she finally confesses. “I do.” She stares at him.

He looks back at her, as though she is the only focal point in the universe. “And if he never comes back?”

“A lot of people would be happier for it.”

“Would you?”

She bites down hard on her lower lip. “I could learn to be.”

It doesn’t feel like the truth. And something turns in him. “What happens when we go back to the Resistance?”

Rey shakes her head. “I don’t know.” She begins to pick at a thread in her tank top. “I’ve been gone a while. Part of me knows I shouldn’t have left.”

“You think they’ll be angry with you.”

“They have a right to be,” she says sharply, the shame at herself echoing in their bond. “But I couldn’t stay after what happened. Not after Luke…” She swallows.

Ben presses his hands flat against the ground. “Did I kill him?”

Her expression morphs into a grimace. The fingers fidgeting begin to twist violently into the fabric of her shirt. “I don’t think so. Aalto took credit.”

Ben’s heart beats rapidly in his chest. “But you don’t believe him.”

Rey lowers her gaze. “I can’t believe anything he says. I didn’t see Luke die, but my intuition makes me think it was Aalto. But…” She brings her knees to her chest, hooks her arms around them. “But there’s always been doubt there.”

“That I did it.”

She nods, resting her cheek on her knee. “You— _Kylo_ wanted him dead. It was…” Her voice trails off.

“Why we weren’t together.”

“One of the reasons.” Her mouth quirks into a dry grin that is at odds with the pain she emanates. “There were a few.”

He gives a small nod, processing this. “What would happen, if I was the one who killed him?”

She closes her eyes. “I could never forgive that.”

The words have a weight that pulls them both into a heavy silence. Feeling her pain, he awkwardly lifts an arm to wrap around her shoulders. He waits, tense, for her to reject it. The moment stretches, and no one is more surprised than him when she leans into the support, her cheek resting on his shoulder, and her knees shifting to drop at her side.

“For what it’s worth,” she whispers, warm breath landing on his neck and causing a shiver to follow it. “I want it to be Aalto.”

He tightens his arm around her. His thumb traces the exposed skin of her shoulder.

“They miss you,” he mutters. “Finn, Leia. They wanted me to bring you home.”

“Home,” she echoes like it’s a strange word.

_You’re going to go home, Ben. And stay there._

With a forwardness that feels like it belongs to someone else, Ben shifts his body until his legs frame either side of her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he draws her in until her back is flush against his chest. She relaxes, and his other forearm rests on a bent knee, caging her in. Protective.

“I love you,” he promises, a low growl in her ear.

One of her hands gently rests on the arm he has around her. She doesn’t pry it away. Instead, her fingertips trace over his knuckles, in movements that are exploratory and feather-light.

“I’ll help you with your memories,” she promises in return. “No matter what happens with the Resistance.”

Ben nods, and the two of them sit there until it’s time for Rey to land the ship on Tatooine’s surface.

\--

There’s already a crowd of people standing in the hanger by the time the _Millennium Falcon_ touches down. He sees Leia, Finn, and Kes standing in the front.

Rey looks down at them from her spot in the pilot’s seat. Her body still and almost afraid to move. He sits next to her, observing. Waiting for her to move one way or the other.

“I…” she starts suddenly, a slight hitch in her voice. “I used to stand by myself outside the Niima outpost. For hours, sometimes. Watching people as they came and went and found each other.” She swallows tightly. “It’s been so long since _I’ve_ been the one someone’s waiting for.”

“Not as long as you think,” he whispers.

Her eyes fill with tears as she stares out the viewport. Ben follows her gaze, seeing that it’s landed on Finn—raising a hand in a wave and obviously restraining himself from climbing up the exterior of the _Falcon._ Her hand lifts to return it. And Ben’s jaw clenches.

 _They kept her place,_ that old voice slithers across his mind. _Did they hold yours?_

“I don’t want him to hate me.”

“He won’t,” Ben says with more of a snap than he might have intended.

Rey is oblivious to the agitation in his tone, her focus on the outside. Numbly, her fingers press the square button of her safety harness, and she stands. Her fingers land on his forearm, and he looks up at her as he barely reigns in the resentment forming a hard lump in his throat.

“Let’s do this,” she says encouraging, her voice gentle and her lips in a sweet smile that he’s never seen from her.

With restraint, he nods.

\--

He hangs back as she descends the gangway, watching instead.

Rey takes unsteady, slow steps toward the people who are waiting.

 _Her people._ Her _family._

Finn walks toward her first. Rey pauses as he approaches. The soldier stops, silent.

_She loves him._

Rey begins to say something, but Finn crushes her to him in a violent hug. Gripping her tightly, he lets out a barking, delirious laugh and picks her up, swinging her in a circle until her feet lift off of the ground. Halfway into the spin, she lets out a relieved laugh of her own—it echoes in Ben’s chest. Dull and blunt and aching.

_But does she love you? Do any of them?_

His hands make fists at his sides.

Rey smiles and presses her face into Finn’s shoulder. There is no reservation, no flicker of guilt or shame in the embrace. His hands run soothingly over her back.

_She will leave you for them._

Ben stares at Rey. At the happy tears in her eyes, the relaxed set of her shoulders. The smile that will not leave her face.

 _Do you want her to leave you?_ Asks the whisper.

 _No,_ he bites back, answering it for the first time.

 _Then don’t_ let _her._

Rey manages to tear her attention away from Finn to look back at the gangway and meet his eyes. Her brows furrow in a question.

Ben takes a moment to compartmentalize his anger, to hold it somewhere outside himself, before he takes a step off the ship and onto the sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The first "path" of Kylo is nabbed from ignitesthestars' [Making Waves in Sand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6398797/chapters/14650858). Go read it! Always-A-Jedi!Ben, Aalto, and an upcoming KoR for this fic are featured ;)
> 
> -A few throwbacks to TDoKR in this chap ;) mainly from chapters 6, 8, & 12
> 
> thanks again for all your feedback, it makes writing this such an easier process :D


	16. Shara Bey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> breather chapter (sort of ;) ) here! hope you enjoy and as always thank you for the wonderful feedback <3

\--  
**Rey.  
** \--

Tatooine makes her homesick.

It’s odd that the thought is the predominant one in her mind, but she can’t shaking the feeling of nostalgia. She sits next to Finn on the roof of one of the old sand buildings, watching the twin suns hover just below the edge of the horizon. The two of them had spent the night up here, hiding from everything for a while and splitting a bottle of Telosian ale between them. For a couple hours, Rey’s been able to feel like herself again—her belly and mind pleasantly fuzzy and her feet dangling off the edge of her roof. Just her and her best friend—no galactic-wide war or maniacal seers or Masters to avenge, or…

She leans her head back.

She’d told Finn everything. The bond, Aalto. Kylo. Theed. The whole story came pouring out of her after drink three. He only listened, and when she was done there hadn’t been any judgment. Just an arm around her.

“Kylo Ren, huh?” He sounds tired.

Rey sighs. “I don’t know how it happened.”

“Me either.”

She looks out over Anchorhead, sees the small city start to come alive in quiet motions. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Does it have to be anything?”

She closes her eyes. “It’s never going to be nothing. We have a Force bond.”

“Can’t those break?”

“Apparently not this one.”

“Would’ve been easier if you went out with that pilot I tried to set you up with.”

She scoffs with not a lot of feeling as she remembers the blind date from hell years ago. “He didn’t know the difference between foils and panels.”

“Because you like Kylo Ren for all your shared hobbies,” he replies archly.

“…fair point.”

They’re silent for a moment, then Finn nudges her with the side of his arm. “You remember he tried to kill us, right?”

“Crossed my mind.”

“Just checking.”

The question that’s been weighing on her mind breaks. “Do you hate me? For going away?”

He stills. She looks up to see a stunned expression. “Rey, you know I’ll never hate you.” His grip on her tightens. “I’m angry with you—and I’ve got a right to be angry. But mostly I’m just glad you’re here for me to be angry at.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, eyes stinging.

“As for Kylo, I’m not happy about it.” Finn’s voice is carefully flat. “He’s…different, when he’s Ben. I’ll give you that. But he’s dangerous. He’ll hurt people.”

“I’ll stop him.”

“Will you?” His dark eyes seem to burn through her. “Will you be able to do that, Rey? Because you might be the only one who can.”

Rey swallows and looks down. Finn lets out a slow exhale. After a few minutes of strained silence, they go back to leaning against each other—because they’re a team. No matter what. For always.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long,” she whispers. Her cheek rests on his shoulder, his head goes to lay on top of hers. “I never wanted to leave anyone.”

“But you felt like you had to,” Finn mutters back. He doesn’t sound happy about it. Or upset. It just _is,_ and Rey knows it’s a long road back before things can be like they were before. If they ever can be.

“Yes.” The suns start to rise. “And I’ll have to go again.”

“When?”

“Soon.” She goes to take a drink, but the bottle is empty. She sets it down on the roof with a dull echo. “Aalto’s still out there. If he doesn’t come to Tatooine, I need to figure out where he’s going and put an end to it.”

“Rey.”

She shifts her eyes up to see his face uncharacteristically grim.

“This time I’m going with you.”

Rey wants to say yes more than anything. But her mind goes to Luke lying facedown in the sand, Kylo’s eyes rolling back into his head and his nose starting to bleed. “Aalto is dangerous,” she hedges.

“ _So_?”

“I don’t want you-“

“To get hurt?” He finishes a little too sharply.

“Finn…”

“ _No_ , Rey.” He leans away from her. “How long is it going to take for you to realize the lone Jedi thing isn’t working out for you?”

She bites down on her lip. “It’s my fault,” she confesses. “It’s my fault Luke’s dead and Kylo’s-“

Finn goes very still.

“What is it?” Rey squeezes his arm. “Finn?”

He looks at her with sympathy, and that’s when Rey’s stomach goes into knots.

“Rey…there’s something you need to see.”

 

\--  
**Ben.  
** \--

She’s been gone all night.

He looked for her earlier, after he had left a severely uncomfortable dinner with Leia that he’d cut short as soon as possible. Again just an hour ago. She wasn’t in the quarters Leia gave her. Or her room on the _Falcon._

So where was she.

_More importantly, who was she with? It wasn’t you._

Ben’s boots scuffle from one end of the room to the other, his hand runs over the top of his head and pulls off the goggles with a bout of frustration. Part of him struggles to be rational. Rey’s been gone for three years—the only Jedi left in the galaxy. Others were bound to want her time-

_Like Finn?_

He grinds his teeth, chin jutting out as he crosses the room again. Tries not to think about what it means that the first thing Rey does is run off with the traitor-

Ben halts in his step. Squeezes his eyes close. He has no idea why that word comes to his mind when he thinks about the soldier. Finn’s never…

_It’s a deep one, puckered and star-shaped, and it nearly overtakes the soldier’s entire shoulder. It’s waxy and a lighter, shinier brown than the tone of his skin. Likely from a burn._

_“Want to know how I got it?”_

Ben pinches the bridge of his nose.

_Blue light bathes his face as he raises a lightsaber in front of him._

_“Come and get it!”_

The scars. They were from-

Ben’s hand has a slight shake to it. He sets it down to hang limply at his side as more of the memories from the Starkiller Base reassemble in his mind.

_His body is screaming in pain, but he clenches his side together and looks up from the bridge. The traitor looks down from his protected spot several floors up, his expression showing how much of a coward he finds him. How much of a failure._

_Kylo bares his teeth. He’ll prove how wrong this no one is. There’s only so far the traitor and the scavenger can go before he catches them._

_The_ liar _doesn’t get to judge him._

There’s a knock.

He takes a deep breath and turns his head to the intruder.

“Leia says you know.” Kes Dameron stands three feet away, one hand resting in his pocket in an easy manner that Ben does not trust. The other holding two bottles of beer—the same kind he’d get them on Maz’s.

“Depends on what it is,” he grumbles back sourly. The pounding receding in his skull as the hold he has on his memories fades.

“Ky-loh,” Kes stretches out the syllables. The hair on his head somehow looks greyer, the wrinkles in the corners of his mouth more pronounced. He takes a few steps into the room, a forced casualty in his stride. But Ben can see his thumb ghosting over the release of his holster.

“What do you want?” He bites out, headache faded but bad temper still firmly in place.

Kes sends him a look. Then makes his way to the small table that rests in the center of Ben’s temporary quarters. He pulls out a chair and sits in it. “Figured you’d want someone to talk to.”

“So it might as well be the person spying on me.”

Kes gives a thin smile with no humor. “Might as well.”

Ben stares down at the man before shaking his head. “I need to talk to Rey-“

“She’s out with Finn. Catching up.”

He pushes the next word through his teeth. “Out.”

Kes sends him a wry look. “They’ve been friends a long time, Ben.” He puts one of the bottles on the table. “Here.”

Ben barley catches it when he tosses the other. His thoughts keep running, festering. They’re together for the first time in years and her first night back is with someone else.

The older man kicks a chair out. “Take a seat.”

“No.”

“Don’t be a brat.” Kes pops the top off his beer, enjoying a slow drink. “And sit down.”

“Why.”

“There’s some things we need to straighten out.” Kes reaches into his pocket, and Ben tenses-  
-and he pulls out a pack of pazaak cards. “Plus I’ve always wanted to take credits from a Sith Lord.”

He crosses the room to sit down stiffly. “I wasn’t a Sith,” he says with certainty.

“Semantics,” Kes grunts before he cuts the deck.

Ben turns the bottle in his hand. With a hesitant movement, he twists off the cap.

\--

They’re halfway through the fourth hand and half of Ben’s savings when the question comes. It’s not one Ben expects.

“Girl troubles?” Kes questions in an innocent voice.

 Ben shoots him a glare that’s so acidic it actually startles out a laugh from Kes.

“Take that as a yes.”

Ben glowers at the bottle. Lays down a -3 card.

“It’s not easy, is it?”

“What is.”

“Wanting to be with someone leading the restless life.”

It’s not the way Ben would have phrased it, but the words click into place and hold. “I don’t even know if she wants me back,” he mutters.

“Kid, I doubt she’s even had time to think about it.” Kes takes a drink. “I know Rey—not as well as Finn-“ Ben’s grip tightens on his cards, “-or Leia or Luke. But there’s a lot of weight on her shoulders.” He stares at Ben, something old and pained crossing his face. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget you’re still kids.”

“I’m thirty-four.”

“You weren’t always.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kes shakes his head. Lays down a +5 that gets him to a count of 18. “I was a little younger than you when I got married.”

Ben absently shuffles his hand. “To the pilot.”

“Yeah,” Kes snorts, “ _Pilots._ ”

“Pilots,” Ben agrees, laying down a +2. Hand of 16.

“Timing couldn’t have been worse,” he starts, shuffling his own hand. “It was the middle of a war, and we were losing. Anytime we managed to get some leave, it’d be the next crisis. We went weeks, sometimes months without contact.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Didn’t know if she was okay for most of it. Shara Bey was always charging into the next problem.” Kes takes a drink. “Not that I have a lot of room to talk, there. The Pathfinders had their own set of risks.”

“…under Han Solo.”

Kes presses his lips together. “We’ll get to that happabore in the canyon in a minute.”

Ben manages a tight nod.

“But there was always something that made me worry more because she was flying. Something about knowing that if she fell in a fight, it’d just be her alone and the big, black empty-“

_He’s too late. There’s only the smallest dot of orange from her flightsuit in the darkness, spinning out before becoming invisible._

_“ **REY**!” He screams._

“-that happened to Rey,” he whispers.

Kes goes quiet, waiting.

“Rey was flying for the Resistance. Someone shot her down in a firefight. I thought she was dead…” He looks up. “It’s….when I first admitted it. To myself.”

“Admitted what?”

“That I loved her.”

Kes’s eyes go wide. A low whistle escapes from his mouth. “…she knows?”

“I told her.” Ben’s mouth morphs into a scowl. “She went and ate porridge instead of responding.”

Kes gives a dry chuckle. “That’s rough, kid.”

Ben doesn’t know why, but he cracks a smile.

“We were sleeping together less than two months before we got married,” Kes says. “The I love yous get a little hard to find in the war time. But they’re there, in whatever forms they take.” He looks down at the table, getting lost somewhere else. “They’re what keeps you going.”

“…what happened to your wife?”

“We had our boy,” Kes says easily. His fingers go to his dogtags, and he pulls them out. Ben can read the name LT. SHARA BEY DAMERON printed clearly in the metal. “Retired to Yavin IV. Planted a tree. Had about six years together in the afterward.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben offers. It’s genuine, and Kes seems to take it as such.

He leans back in his seat. “Sometimes I think it was the rest that took her. So many years spent moving and then…”  Kes frowns. “I miss her every damn day. I’m going to keep missing her until I go.”

They sit in silence for a minute. Ben awkwardly lays down his +5 card. Kes smirks. It’s the first hand Ben’s won in a long, long time.

Wordlessly, Kes transfers his credits over and starts a new round. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m telling you about her.”

“A little.”

“I’m here for Shara Bey,” Kes states. “Out of retirement, I mean. I sat on a rock in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by pirates, babysitting the man who killed Han Solo, because it was something I thought I could do to… to help fill the space she should’ve occupied. The space our son occupied.”

Ben’s head looks up at the mention of Kes’s son. But the hard look in the older man’s eyes stills any questions.

“I hated Kylo Ren,” he says quietly. “He killed my old commander and friend, tortured my son-“

Ben grimaces.

“-and I wouldn’t have minded if he was gone for good. But when Princess Leia Organa requests a personal favor, you do it.” Kes takes another drink. He shuffles the cards. “Kylo Ren wouldn’t have saved Finn’s life. Kylo Ren didn’t love anything enough to change for it.” He deals. “But maybe Ben Kanata would.”

Ben’s hand slides across the table to pull back his cards.

Kes stares at him. “We are what we are, Ben. Underneath it all. Rey’s never going to have the quiet life. You’re never going to be out of competition with whatever the galaxy needs of her. But there can be something there, if you’re willing to compromise for it. I wouldn’t trade the years I had with Shara Bey for anything—even if there weren’t enough of them. Even if duty sometimes came first.”

Ben flips over his deck.

“Think about it. Because I’d like to get to know _Ben_. That’s the man I believe Han Solo died for.”

Ben picks at his cards. The numbers add up to 21. It’s a perfect hand.

\--

The suns are rising, the table is littered with bottles, Kes is passed out on the table, and Ben’s long since in debt when he feels it.

At first he thinks he’s been stabbed again. There’s a jagged tear that starts in the pit of his belly and cuts up to his throat. His limbs go numb and cold. It’s hard to breathe. Shock, he thinks. He’s in shock. And agony. The two forces at odds in his system, one trying to win out over the other.

But then he realizes it’s not him.

Ben’s moving before he has a hold on anything—his body shooting up and toppling the chair behind him. Kes stirs across from him, a card stuck to his cheek.

“What-“

“Rey,” is all he has time to say, before he grabs the utility belt on the floor and makes for the door.

\--

The world around him seems too still and Ben rushes through the streets of Anchorhead. The dirt paths are narrow, sandwiched between large, clay buildings. The roofs and tops of stalls are still coated in a film of dust from the earlier sandstorm, and people—Resistance and civilian alike—are starting to mill about, eager to begin their day before the intense desert heat stills in.

Ben casts out with the bond, his panic making the action more instinctual than thought-out.

_Rey!_

She doesn’t respond in words, but he feels a sharp resurgence in their connection—her sorrow a reverberating thing. Ben shifts direction, turning on his heels and heading where he feels her presence in the Force.

_Rey, what is it?_

He shoves past a few scrap-haulers, who glare at him. He doesn’t care. His feet pick up the pace, going faster and faster.

_Rey, talk to me._

Her trail becomes clearer, the path to where she is more obvious. Ben runs to a heavy, wooden door that he remembers leads to the medcenter.

_Kylo…_

_What? What is it?_

_He’s- he's here._

**_Who?_ ** _Who is here? Rey!_

She doesn't respond. Ben pushes into the building. And he’s surprised to see that someone is waiting for him.

Leia stands to the side of the entryway, a wall with a viewport and door separating it from the partitioned sections where the patients are. Her face is grey and her arms are limply crossed over her stomach. “Was wondering when you’d find your way here.”

“What’s going on?” Ben demands, panic and anger rising in him to compliment Rey’s grief and shock. He looks around the entryway, and when his eyes land on Finn sitting to the side his rage spikes. “What did you do?”

Finn glares right back, his annoyance clear. “Can you give them a minute before you start tearing down the walls?”

“Give who a minute-?”

“Ben.”

He snaps his head to Leia. She gives a tired sigh before her hand rests on Ben’s arm, gently directing him to stand at a new place by the viewport. He allows himself to be steered, mainly because her gentle direction has a silent force behind it.

“What?” He growls.

Leia wordlessly gestures with her chin to the other side of the viewport. Ben follows it, and his eyes stop when he sees the back of Rey’s head. She’s wearing a poncho he doesn’t recognize (maybe its _Finn’s_ ), and she’s sitting by a bed. Her back is shaking with sobs that are silent on this side of the glass, her hands tightly wrapped around the lifeless one belonging to the patient.

Ben recognizes the man on the bed. Grey, wiry hair that rests on his shoulders. A thick beard that covers his chin and cheeks. A drawn face with furrowed brows and an unrested expression. The man with the bed next to his.

_“Keep trying,” comes an endlessly patient voice. A hand reaches out to ruffle his hair-_

“Who is that?” Ben rasps.

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Leia discretely wipes away something on her cheek. “My brother.”

Ben tries to breathe, but black spots flicker in his vision. Whether it’s a side emotion from Rey or something of his own, he feels his chest constrain with short inhales as he reaches the only reasonable conclusion.

“…Luke Skywalker is alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -[Shara Bey](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Shara_Bey), Kes's totally hot and awesome wife. 
> 
> -[Pazaak](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Pazaak) is basically space!black jack. I probably screwed up the rules but let's roll with it
> 
> -The idea of the "restless life" is taken from the [Sword of the Jedi](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Sword_of_the_Jedi) prophecy in the EU. It's meant to describe [Jaina Solo](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Jaina_Solo_Fel) (my fav EU character :BB), but I think it fits Rey + Shara Bey too: Yours is a restless life, and never shall you know peace, though you shall be blessed for the peace that you bring to others. Take comfort in the fact that, though you stand tall and alone, others take shelter in the shadow that you cast.
> 
> -[Anchorhead](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Anchorhead) is a shitsack (and mostly abandoned according to Convenient Plot Reasons) town on Tatooine
> 
> -"That's rough, kid." is of course taken from the sokka & zuko "That's rough, buddy." in atla :3


	17. Ben

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god i swear only one more this week and i'll leave y'all in peace!!! this chapter brought to you by neiticora + her amazing [reylo hiddleswift (hiddloswey)](http://neiticora.tumblr.com/post/147067055511/hiddloswey) fusions :'D

**Ten days later.**

**\--**  
**Rey.  
\--**

_Thunder rumbles, a streak of purple following after it in the sky. Rey follows the shoreline of Ahch-To, not even caring when rain starts to down pour._

_“Luke?” She cries out, her feet sinking further and further into the mud as she searches. The waves start to crest and swell, growing from the storm. “Luke?”_

_Her hair starts to come undone from its knot, the fabric of her grey vest clinging to her back. She blinks away frustrated tears and looks up at the sky._

_“Luke!”_

A hand rests on her shoulder. “You alright?”

Rey jerks away, her hand going to her lightsaber—

Only it’s not there. She left it in her room. She blinks sleep away as her mind steadily becomes more alert, gaze shifting to look at the person who interrupted her trance.

He looks…stern. A narrow face with sharp features, black hair with streaks of grey at the temples. A mouth lined in a perpetual frown of disapproval. But his eyes are kind, and the look of concern he’s sending down at her seems genuine.

Rey darts her attention away from the man who woke her up to where Luke rests on the bed. He hasn’t moved. She doesn’t know why she keeps expecting him to. It’s been ten days, countless trips into the flow, and there’s nothing she can do. He hasn’t gotten better. She doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him—all she feels is the wound in the Force. The one that reminds her of when they found Aalto on Nar Shaddaa—sickly and toxic. He doesn’t have vitals, not exactly. And his presence is closed to the Force. It’s as though Luke is in stasis, frozen and suspended somewhere else.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” the man starts, taking her from her thoughts.

Rey reluctantly looks away from Luke and faces the stranger. “I’ve…been away.”

The man stares at her, _really_ stares at her. And Rey feels this uncomfortable sensation of being evaluated. “You’re her,” he realizes.

Rey frowns. “Excuse me?”

“The missing Jedi.” He takes his hand off her shoulder ad offers it for a shake instead. “Rey, right?”

Hesitantly she lifts her hand and meets his. “Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”

The man gives a sad smile. “Wedge Antilles. Luke and I go way back.”

“Rogue Squadron,” she mutters as she places the name. “Luke’s showed me some of the old holos.”

Wedge’s smile becomes a bit more genuine. “That’s me.” He looks down at Luke, and the grief on his face makes Rey pause. It’s strong—as strong as Leia’s or her own, but not in the same way. “I try to stop by every week when I can.”

“I’m glad he had someone,” Rey offers. Because it wasn’t her. Because she was somehow still failing him. Her shoulders slump forward, exhausted.

Wedge keeps an eye on her, before he awkwardly clears his throat. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

Rey winces. She never skips breakfast. Except for the last three days, apparently. “No.”

“Let’s go to the market and get a cup of caf, then.”

Rey looks back at Luke.

Wedge seems to understand better than most. “We’ll be an hour.”

Her stomach rumbles, and Rey looks back to Wedge. Something prickles at the edges of her senses. Something important.

“Alright.”

\--

The caf is better than what she’s had before on Jakku—it’s spiced with something that gives it a pleasant aroma. Normally, a hot beverage in the soon to be midday heat was a terrible idea. But she still has a chill from the flow-walk in her dreams, the stormy and cold coast of Ahch-To clinging to her bones.

And Wedge had paid for it.

Rey watches the older man as he sits across from her. Every inch of him speaks to the military—his straight posture, even the way he wears his jacket. Rey doubts he’s the civilian that his clothes speak to. Doubts he’s even stopped piloting or running ops, despite his age.

“So you were Luke’s student,” he begins, sliding a small plate across the table.

Rey’s mouth waters despite herself at the sight of the cake. It’s been so long since she’s had anything but porridge. Or left Luke’s side for longer than a few minutes. Guilt hits her, strong and sure as soon as she bites down on the first piece of the treat. It felt wrong to be gone, even for a little while. Not after being gone for three years when he might have needed her.

“Yes,” she answers, if a little delayed. “We bounced between Ahch-To and Resistance bases for almost three years.”

Wedge nods. He looks at his mug of caf without drinking it. “…Do you have any idea what’s wrong with him?”

She knows he doesn’t mean for the question to hurt, but it does. “I heard that Leia insisted on keeping him in the medcenter after I left, even though he didn’t have vitals.” She wants to cry again, but she manages to fight the urge and keep her voice steady.

“Right as usual,” Wedge injects with a thin sort of levity.

Rey nods. _Thank the Force, because I wasn’t._ “He seems to be in stasis. His presence in the Force is gone, so is his mind when I try to reach him.” Rey sends him a wary look, but Wedge gives no indication that anything she’s said is off-kilter to the extent of it being unbelievable. “While I was away, I saw him in visions.”

“Visions.”

“Yeah, on Ahch-To. Where we used to train.” She shakes her head. “He spoke to me, about…” Rey sighs. “Things I can’t remember. But they were also more than visions. I think it might have been the flow.”

Wedge’s brows draw together. “And what’s that?”

She stares at the table, knowing how ridiculous it’s about to sound. “It’s…somewhere outside of space. Things work differently there. Time doesn’t work right, there’s only the Force-“ she meets Wedge’s gaze. “This must sound ridiculous.”

He shakes his head. “Not as much as you might think. I was with Luke when he was starting the Jedi academy.”

The Jedi academy which no longer existed. The thought is sobering. “I didn’t know the Rebellion helped with that.”

“We didn’t. Some supply runs every now and then, but Luke was pretty adamant on doing it on his own.” Wedge gives a little laugh. “Stubborn farmboy, as always.”

“Did you visit it often then?”

Wedge frowns, confused at the question. Then he blinks with realization. “Ah, no. I meant I was _with_ Luke when he was starting the Jedi academy.” His face goes distant, a little nostalgic. A little hurt. “Was even thinking about living on Yavin, for awhile. Until everything.”

The clarification takes her a moment to understand. Rey remembers the last conversation she had with Luke—how he had mentioned a partner. Rey meets Wedge’s gaze again, and a new empathy emerges in her chest when she realizes that this man loved Luke, too.

“What happened?” She blurts without thinking.

“Luke lost his dream. I couldn’t get it back for him.” Wedge drums his fingers on the table, an odd act of restlessness from the pilot who seems so controlled. “He wasn’t the same after the academy fell. I got a piece of the map he left behind after he went into exile, but it was just a piece. It’s…” He exhales. “It was hard to be left. I was angry for a long time.”

Rey thinks about the tally marks on the walls of her home on Jakku. “I know about that.”

“I’m sure you do.” Wedge clears his throat. “Look…I brought you here because I wanted to thank you, Rey.”

“For what?”

“For bringing him back home when no one else could. Even if it was only for a few years…I know enough about Luke to know that the time he had meant something to him.” Wedge’s gaze softens. “And I know how much he loved his students.”

Her throat feels tight. “Thank you.”

He nods. They sit in silence for a moment, until Rey senses something heavy weighing on Wedge’s mind.

“What is it?”

Wedge hesitates. “It’s probably nothing.”

It’s not. Whatever it is has a resonance in the Force that Rey can practically touch. She lifts a hand to rest on his forearm. “Tell me.”

“I’ve…been having dreams.” He shoots her a wary look. “Visions, I guess.”

“What about?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Here. Not _here,_ exactly. But a trip Luke and I took back to Tatooine after the war ended. We went out to the Dune Sea.”

Rey listens, patient.

Wedge sighs. “I keep seeing Ben Kenobi’s place. Out in the desert. Ben was important to Luke and…” he shrugs. “I don’t know. It just seemed like something I had to tell you.”

Something like hope stirs in Rey’s chest as she opens herself to the Force. She hears the whispers in Wedge’s suggestion. Their simple command that almost sounds like it’s coming from Luke’s voice.

_Go to Ben’s._

She pats his arm. “I’ll leave this afternoon.”

Wedge smiles, the first one on his face that allows for relief. “Then I’ll watch over him while you’re gone.”

 

\--  
**Ben.**  
\--

“Look,” Finn’s voice breaks the perfectly fine quiet of the morning, and Ben grinds his teeth from his position underneath a halfway restored X-Wing. “Let’s just admit this is weird, and get over it.”

“No,” he mutters under his breath. He turns the magwench, closing up the fuel line. The past week’s had him on refueling duty—one of the simplest jobs for a mechanic. He hates it. It’s busy work, and barely better than what he did on Takodana. “I’m working,” he says louder.

“Yeah, well, I’m working too.” Ben hears the sound of a torpedo launcher being taken apart a few feet to his left. “And I’m more productive when I don’t have to deal with you glaring at me every five minutes.”

“I’m underneath an X-Wing. I physically can’t glare at you.”

“An emotional glare, then.”

He has no desire to pursue this line of conversation, or any conversation for that matter, further. He puts his attention on the fuel line, checking to make sure it’s air tight.

And suddenly Finn is right by his elbow. “Nice job.”

“I don’t need your approval.”

“Or a compliment, apparently.”

“ _What do you want.”_

Finn gives him a side-eye. “To figure you out.”

“Good luck.”

“No kidding.”

Ben sends him a dark look before he takes a step out from underneath the X-Wing. Finn, of course, follows.

“Look,” he begins, “You saved my life when Kanjiklub boarded. And it’s been over a week and you haven’t killed anyone yet.”

 _You’re going to get Finn back safely._ “Your point.”

“ _So_ I wanted to let you know that…” Finn’s lips purse, as if there’s something very bitter.

Ben raises a brow. Then grabs a welding mask from one of the workbenches. That panel will need to be plasma’d shut.

“Okay. Trying again.” Finn rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I’m just here for you.”

Ben’s movements come to a halt. “What.”

“Well, like you know…I was in the First Order too, man.” His tone gets Arch in a way he doesn’t appreciate. “I never tortured or executed anyone—“

“ _Your point._ ”

“—but I get wanting to be someone else.” Finn dips his chin, somehow managing to look more earnest than usual. It’s irritating. “That’s all. And if you’re here for Rey…”

“Who says I’m here for Rey?”

“I assumed.”

“Why.”

“The general sense of…” Finn looks him up and down. “Single-mindedness.”

Ben glares at him, before flipping the mask down-

“Hey, could you maybe. _Not_ wear that thing.”

“Now what is it.”

“It’s a little too familiar, if you catch my drift.”

He doesn’t. Apparently Finn just wants him to add more burn scars to his face. Or die. With an aggravated sigh, he flips it off his head and hands it to Finn. “ _You_ patch the paneling, then.”

“Sure.” Force, Ben hates how _helpful_ the soldier insists on being. Finn takes the mask, putting it on and walking until he’s under the same loose sheets Ben noticed. His hand’s steady as he welds the pieces of sheet metal together with well-practiced motions. At Ben’s incredulous look, Finn shrugs. “I’ve been seeing a pilot.”

Ben halts. Ice-cold anger washes over him, that electric pulse snaking its way down his arm, collecting in his palm. “Is it Rey.”

Oblivious to Ben’s growing mood, Finn laughs. “No. I mean, we tried for a couple months after Starkiller happened, but-“

“Do you love her?”

Finn sets down the plasma torch. His opposite hand pushing up the mask. “Of course.”

_Kill him._

Ben takes a strained breath in. “For how long?”

“For as long as I’ve known her.” Finn’s face gains a hard look. “Do we have a problem here?”

_Kill him!_

He growls, “She’s-“

“Do _not_ say mine,” Finn cuts him off, taking a step closer. Despite his shorter stature, he gives an air of looking down at Ben. “You don’t get to do that, got it? You don’t get to put a monopoly on who cares about Rey or who she spends her time with. It’s bad enough that you two are…” he grimaces, “Are doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing. But the second I hear you’re trying to keep her away from her family, I’m…” He frowns. “I’ll-“ He can’t finish the threat. “It’s not going to be good!”

_Kill him, kill the traitor._

Finn stares up at him, his chin jutted out.

Ben’s fingers flex.

_Do it._

“We’re going to have to learn to deal with each other,” Finn presses.

_Do it!_

“Because for some reason, Rey wants you around.”

Ben’s hand shakes.

 ** _Now_** _!_  
  
And he takes in a breath. “You’re not together anymore,” he clarifies.

“No, haven’t been for years. We’re not…it’s not like that. I moved on.” He sends him a slow, blatantly judgmental look from the top of his braided head to the bottom of his scuffed boots. “I guess that’s what happened here for her, too.”

“…she told you that?”

“Sort of.” Finn’s rigid posture seems to deflate, and with it his animosity. “She filled me in. About Jagomir, the bond, Theed-“

Ben’s mind snags. A purple crystal. Twin, silver blades igniting. It all returns to him in a tide that he cannot push back. “What about Theed?”

“How she took away the memories of the fight with Soran. Sorry about blaming you for that, by the way-“

_I’m no one._

“What fight.”

Finn looks at Ben. Then the sky. “Shit.”

When he looks down, Ben’s already gone.

“Shit!”

\--

It, for once, isn’t hard to find her.

Rey’s in her temporary hut, her back to the door. She’s not wearing the poncho for once. Instead she’s in new travel clothes—a fitted, black leather jacket with cuffs that rest just below the elbow. Black pants. Black boots that go up to her knees. Hair loose and falling over her shoulders.

It takes him a moment to realize that she’s throwing more gear into a travel pack. And then it’s easy for him to recall his previous anger.

“Going somewhere?”

She doesn’t stop her movements. “For a day. We’ll work on meditation more when I get back-“

“We’re not finished here.”

She slams her multikit into the pack and her movements stop. She turns around, annoyed. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Make time,” he orders, stalking toward her.

Rey crosses her arms over her chest. Her eyes search his expression. “What’s wrong?”

Ben doesn’t stop until they’re nearly chest to chest. “You’ve spent every day since we landed on Tatooine avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“When are you going to stop lying to me?”

She glares. “I’ve had other things on my mind, Kylo-“

“That’s not my name anymore!” He nearly screams, the frustration from the last ten days, the series of memories that never line up perfectly, finally shattering his composure. “Because you killed him. _”_

Rey flinches.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” He demands. “There wasn’t an accident three years ago. There was only _you._ ”

“It’s not that simple!”

“I think it is!” He back­s away from her, nearly snarling as he rakes a hand through his hair. “What was it, Rey? Was Kylo not convenient enough? Was it too hard to be with someone that you thought was a monster-“

“Stop it.”

He starts to pace, his hands flexing and unflexing at his sides. “-Or was it because you thought I killed Luke?” He doesn’t need to point out how wrong that assumption was. The stricken look on her face is enough to tell him that she knows. “Couldn’t kill me, so you turned me into…into _this._ Someone weak and powerless that you could cut off and leave behind without a second look back-“

“It was supposed to help you!” She yells, just as angry. The dark energy in the room seems to feed him, helps him let go of the restraint he’s been carefully gripping onto for the last few week. “You were supposed to start over on Takodana-“

He faces her, back hunching slightly as his voice raises once again. “Stop _pitying_ me!”

“Why would I pity you? You killed Han _-_ “

“And I guess that’s never going to go away, is it? Everyone’s making sure of that!”

“Just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!”

“I don’t remember because you-!”

She cuts him off, face flushed and body near trembling. “I did it to save your life!”

He rolls his eyes with a sneer. “Of course-”

“And because I loved you, you ungrateful nerfherder!”

The words are a vacuum in the small space of Rey’s hut. He stops. She stops. Her chest is heaving and her face has gone white, as if her words were as much of a surprise to her as they were to him. Through the bond, he feels her regret like a sharp knife—he was never meant to hear this. She never wanted to put a name to it.

But it’s there. And her willingness to keep even that from him is yet another wound she’s administered. And there’s something wrong with him, because he keeps letting her, keeps showing her all the vulnerable places he doesn’t have the strength to hide in the face of _Rey_.

“Loved,” he echoes coldly. “But not anymore.”

 _Typical Jedi. She ruined_ _what you were, and now she hates what you are._

Rey bites down on her lower lip. “This hasn’t been easy. For anyone.”

“What are we, then?”

Rey looks at him, hurt. “I never have an answer for that.”

“What’s wrong with me now,” he whispers, “That you don’t want me when you did before.”

“You’re not wrong.” Rey’s feelings are as chaotic in the bond as his own.

“Then what is it?”

“I just want you to have a _choice._ ” She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead.

“I’ve already made one.”

“Based on memories that aren’t yours. That aren’t complete.” He feels her pain, spinning out slowly into the air. “You don’t have to be Kylo again, Ben. Not if you don’t want to. And I’m not going to be the person who keeps hurting you in the meantime.”

“Then be with me.”

Rey’s voice is thick. “No. Not right now.”

He stares at her. Whatever is in his expression makes her look away. Nothing seems to move or be. Ben tries to hold on to his pain, to transform it into something he can _use._ But there’s nothing to be saved from this.

“Were you ever going to tell me,” his words sound detached even to his own ears, “About Theed.”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But I would have told you about Moraband.”

The name of the planet conjures up an image. Red sands, howling winds. A dryness in his mouth and nose.

“I took your memories to stop Aalto from doing what he did to Luke,” she explains. “He’s been watching me in the flow. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was following you, too.”

He doesn’t know what the flow is. But for right now it doesn’t matter. All he can think about is love in the past tense. “Why.”

“He wants something from me,” she says darkly. “I haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

 _But_ Rey _wants power. Show her you still have it, Kylo Ren._

Ben doesn’t move, Rey’s implied rejection burrowing deeper and deeper under his skin. Making the whisper that speaks to him grow louder. “Where are you going.”

“Somewhere that might help Luke. Out in the Dune Sea, closer to Mos Eisley.”

_Show her._

“I’m coming with you,” he states.

“It’ll be faster if I go myself.” Rey’s defeat flickers in the bond. “There might not be anything.”

“Rey.”

She meets his eyes.

“I’m coming with.”

She goes to protest, but stops herself. After a moment, she reluctantly nods.

“…If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

\--

He wasn’t expecting Leia to be waiting for them by the speeders. Every day for the last ten days, Ben and Leia managed a meal together despite her schedule. Small talk, mostly. But they were almost inching into bearable territory.

Leia leans against one, an absolutely ancient red landcruiser that’s seen better days and likely better cities. Ben doesn’t doubt that the tension between him and Rey is palpable, but Leia only eyes Rey with an amused grin.

“New jacket,” she comments dryly.

Rey smiles. He’s resentful of the expression. “It’s old, actually. A lifeday present from Luke.”

“The boots, too?”

“Yes.”

Leia nods, popping a hip and crossing her arms. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to sneak off.”

He doesn’t respond. Ben’s mind still replaying their earlier conversation. Over and over again.

Luckily, Rey doesn’t seem to have the same fixation. “Just for a day. Wedge mentioned he saw visions of the Dune Sea.”

Leia’s gaze goes distant. “Old Ben’s place.”

“Yeah. What do you think?”

Leia looks at Ben. Then Rey. “…just the two of you?”

“I could go by myself-“

“Both of us,” Ben cuts off, just short of a bark. “We’re both going.”

Rey sends him an uncertain look. She’s not afraid, just uncomfortable. He doesn’t know what that seems worse. “Ben wants to come with.”

Leia looks right through him. And he hates the sympathy in her eyes. Hates it even more when she takes a step closer and wraps her arms around his shoulders. “Take care of that lightsaber,” she mutters in his ear. “And I’ll be here when you’re ready to come home.”

He scowls in confusion when she pulls away. But Leia’s eyes shine with the knowledge of something he doesn’t get to know just yet.

“Well,” she says, clearing her throat. Ben doesn’t know why her eyes are watery. “You’d better get going if you want to be there before dark.”

Rey nods, giving Leia a briefer hug before tossing her bag in the speeder and hoping after it. Ben follows her, annoyed when he has to bring his knees up in the passenger’s seat.

“Ready?” Rey asks.

“Yes,” he replies shortly.

She slumps her shoulders before powering up the speeder. Ben looks over his shoulder to see Leia give him a slow wave goodbye.

Then Rey hits the ignition.

And they’re racing out of Anchorhead, and into the desert.

\--

It takes them a few hours to find the hut. Rey has coordinates for the place, Alpha-1733-Mu-9033, but it’s more of a pull that lets them find it more than anything else. Old Ben Kenobi’s place is a small, decrepit synstone dwelling in the otherwise barren reaches of the desert. Its presence a small disruption in the otherwise monotonous landscape. Ben has no idea how anyone could live here for a week, let alone decades.

Because he’s heard of General Obi-Wan Kenobi. The man was a legend in the Resistance—the old Jedi who taught Luke Skywalker, who was a hero in the Clone Wars.

His namesake.

The landspeeder sputters to a slow death once Rey releases the thrust. “Here we are,” she announces unnecessarily, more than likely to break up the quiet.

Neither of them move to get out.

“Are you going to be alright?” Rey asks softly.

“It’s late to be asking that.”

“Ben…”

“Let’s see what this is about,” he redirects, moving with stiff legs out of the cramped speeder. His boots connect with the sand. A second later, he hears Rey hop out behind him.

For once, he decides to lead, and heads into the hut. The door is barricaded, but it lifts effortlessly with a wave of his fingers.

\--

The place seems to be made up of spare parts and furnished by eclectic findings. There’s an old, sonic dishwasher and a generator rigged up with customized designs. Mismatched sofas and chairs that have been kept upholstered and repaired. Everything in Old Ben’s hut is made by salvaging something else.

It reminds him of Rey. The loneliness is the same. The desire to make something out of spare parts discarded by others.

The Force is something Ben is still relearning, but he feels it in this place. It clings to the walls like cobwebs, holding the presence of the one who came before them to this place.

“I feel Luke here,” Rey whispers, her fingers trailing over the stone walls. “Memories, I mean. This place was important to him.”

The walls feel like they’re inching closer to him. “What are you looking for.”

Rey gives a small shrug. “I’m not sure yet. But I feel the Force here, directing me to something.” She sets down her bag, boots making dim, echoing noises as she walks toward the center of the living area.

_She walks away from him. Again and again and again._

“Wait.”

“What is it?”

Ben’s fist clenches against the wall as he braces his weight. He feels a cold sweat start to form on his neck. “Before we came to Tatooine, you told me you could help me remember on my own.”

Her eyes widen. “Ben…”

“You owe me a day, Rey.” Because he knows. He knows he’s going to lose her. Their argument keeps circulating in his head. The whisper from the dark gets louder, more insistent. “That’s how I want to spend it.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Rey says, fear leaking into her tone. “I don’t even know if it will work.”

“It’ll work.”

“Your memories are coming back on their own,” she counters. “What if…”

“I don’t care.”

“Ben-“

“ _I don’t care._ ” He looks around the room. The pounding in his head grows louder and louder. The lightsaber on his hip almost grows heavier. He leans against the wall. “Some memories. Some feelings. But they never line up, Rey. I’m not either of them.” He swallows. “ _I’m not enough._ It’s like I’m being torn apart.”

She freezes.

He brings himself to a stand, takes an unsteady step toward her. He knows she can feel what he does in the bond. The chaos. The rejection. It ebbs around them both, drawing them deeper and deeper.  He brings a hand to her cheek.

“You want me to have a choice? Help me find it.”

Rey is rigid against him for a long time. The moment extends forever as he feels and watches her wrestle with indecision. About her complicated and unnecessary distinctions between right and wrong. Eventually, she closes her eyes.

And nods against his palm.

\--

Rey spends the evening in meditation. When she’s ready, she gestures to the floor space in front of her. He sits, legs crossed and eyes intently on her. She stares up at him, the air thick and heavy.

“I don’t know if this will work,” she reiterates.

“I know,” he says lowly. It doesn’t matter. It’s a chance—on the whisper in his mind is pushing him toward.

“This is what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it fails.”

“Yes.”

Rey takes a deep breath. After a moment, she pushes herself onto her knees, until they are nearly at eye-level. She hesitates for a moment, before she brings her lips to his. The kiss is soft, and barely begun before she’s pulling back again—forehead resting on his own.

“Take deep breaths,” she instructs.

He does. Her hands reach up, hovering over the sides of his temples. There’s a light pull, a strange and intangible sensation that makes his eyes slide close.

“Goodbye Ben,” she whispers.

“Rey.”

It’s the last word he can get out, before his thoughts begin to fade and his mind drifts into sleep.

\--

 _First he is a boy, holding a stuffed tauntaun to his chest and watching his father leave.  
  
Then he is older, the tauntaun dropped on the ground as he clutches his head and tries to fight away whispers that only want to _ take _from him._

_He is a young man, running through the jungle. Chasing the sun._

_He is older still. And undergoing the training of Ren. Invisible fingers burrow into his skin, push—  
\--that memory stops. And instead he sees his mother, her wrist bending as she holds out a lightsaber._

_He is a man, and his father’s hand grazes his cheek. Touch already cold.  
He is a man, and he watches as she runs from him. Again and again and again._

Rey, _he calls out—whatever he is now reaching for a hand in the nothing._

 _What feels like fingertips brush against his consciousness. And he hears her, a small candle in the dark that says_ I’m still here.

\--

When he wakes, there are no answers, no revelations waiting for him.

There is only himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [Wedge Antilles](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Wedge_Antilles)
> 
> -Luke totally bought Rey a RotJ/Chanel-realness all-black #Look for one of her birthdays okay
> 
> \- The last two lines are taken from my favorite bit of KOTOR 2: "There is no revelation, no great secret. There is only you."


	18. Janara (part i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** this chapter for semi-explicit sexual content (we're not in bodice-ripper territories yet). if you want to skip it, it's the section that starts with "The third night changes nothing."
> 
> This chapter got to be too long, so it's being split. Second part up hopefully later tonight :D Thank you everyone for your continued enthusiasm, I really appreciate it <3

\--  
**Rey.  
** \--

She’s going to be sick.

The exertion of using the Force this way pulls at her, the toxicity reminiscent of Aalto eager to worm its way past the barriers she’s built. She shoves it away, fights to keep her hold. She is an anchor, a tether. If she lets go for even a moment she knows they’ll both be lost.

As soon as Kylo’s eyes roll back, she does her best to shift them both into a more comfortable position. She crosses her legs, resting his head on her lap and his body on the floor as she maintains her hold on the waves of memories that travel through him. A trickle of blood stems from her nose that she hastily wipes away.

The temptation is there to manipulate them—to have more focus on the happier thoughts of his family, of the Resistance. But that’s not something she can do. The will of the Force isn’t subjected to her own desires, no matter how well-intentioned they might be.

Rey opens up her mind to the Force, to the flow, and lets herself act as only its conduit. Once hours pass, and she feels as though she can do nothing else but _let go,_ Rey’s consciousness leaves with her next breath.

And she collapses to the floor on her side.

\--

_She hears a scream in the distance._

_“What have you **done**?”_

_It sounds like Aalto._

_Rey turns._

_The monk is there, the skull mask on and his hood drawn over his head. He’s furious in a way she has never seen directed at her, his body bending at the midsection as though in physical pain._

_“Not_ him, _” he seethes. One arm hooks around his stomach. “It was supposed to be_ Luke _!”_

_Her mind starts to slip away._

_“NO!” He yells, running for her as fast as his hunched form can. “STAY **HERE** -!”_

_Rey sends him a final look of pity before she falls backward._

_\--_

_She lands on the grass, her arms folded behind her head. One knee resting over the other. Rey looks up at the constellations that are so clear on Ahch-To, not clouded by atmo pollution or the dimmed lights of engines._

_“Count the stars, Rey,” Luke instructs to her side. His posture mimics hers, the pointer finger of his mechanical hand tracing a pattern in the air. “One by one by one.”_

_Rey follows the path—the one she knows is_ hers.

_The first star is where she began. The planet where her family fled, all those years ago—a place that doesn’t belong to her any more than a cliff belongs to a foothold._

_Luke moves his hand. Jakku, where she grew up. Where she learned to survive._  
_Next is Takodana. Where she felt the touch of the Force._  
_Then D’Qar. Where she would find her family._  
_The ice planet of Starkiller. Where she would lose the first of them._  
_Ahch-To. Where she felt safe._

_Luke sends her a sad smile, shifts his hand to the next part of the path._

_Jagomir. Where it changed for the better._  
_Nar Shaddaa. Where it changed for the worse._  
_Onderon. A quiet moment of rest._  
_Dantooine. Where it was full of ghosts._  
_Moraband. Where she became one._

_Luke’s hand moves again._

_Lehon. Where loneliness came back._  
_Manaan. Where no one could help her._  
_Naboo. Where she was no one._  
_Tatooine. Where hope fought the loneliness._

_Rey tries to look ahead, but Luke brings his other hand up to block the rest of the path, all but for one, small star._

_“You follow old steps,” he says, “You make trails for new ones.”_

_Rey stares at that next, flickering light. And its name whispers across her mind._

_Dagobah._

_\--_

_There is a boy._

_He’s curled into a ball, dark head of hair cradled in his hands as he sobs into his knees. A small figure in white in the endless stretch of the flow._

_Knowing, yet not knowing, who it is (it has to be him), Rey moves until she is standing before him. She crouches down, resting a hand on his back._

_“Hey,” she says in what she hopes is a familiar tone, “What’s wrong?”_

_The boy hiccups, not looking at her. “Hurts.”_

_“What hurts?”_

_The boy’s small, long fingers wrap around her wrist, and Rey smiles when there’s a quiet connection with the touch._

_“Make it go away,” he asks, still not looking up. “_ Please. _Make it go away, Rey.”_

_She feels an old path break and fall away when she gets down on one knee before him._

_“Come on,” she instructs._

_The boy hesitates before his arms wrap around her neck. And then she carries them both away from this dark place._

_\--_

Rey’s eyes open. She’s laying on an old sofa that smells of heat and sand, her arm draped across her stomach. Her body fights her mind, but she manages to look across the room.

He sits there, back hunched over until his elbows can rest on his knees. His fingers folded in front of his mouth. Dark eyes trained on her.

Rey tries to swallow, her throat dry and tasting of dust. “Did we make it?”

He stares at her for a few moments longer, an untranslatable expression on his face. Then he gets up, crossing the small distance between them. He looks down, expression unchanging. And Rey braces herself for whatever it is that comes next.

His warm, long hand presses a canteen into her palm. He holds it there until her still-numb fingers can catch a grip, not withdrawing his touch from her until she lifts it to her lips.

His voice is thick. “You tell me.”

 

\--  
**Kylo.**  
\--

It’s not a good fit.

He stares at the weapon resting in his palm. Holding it now, he can only see where things are less than perfection. The hilt, which rested comfortably within a double-handed grip when he was a teenager, is now too short. The ignition pad is too close to his thumb. It’s also too light for the style he favors now, the adjustments and balance needing correcting for broader swings.

Rey sits next to him on the sofa, the two of them barely moving since she came back from his memories. Her knees are drawn to her chest and her presence is calm. Expectant. She is only waiting for the outcome, not trying to shape it.

“What are you going to do?” She asks in a steady but quiet voice.

His fingers tilt up the hilt. Its chrome handle catches in the light. He traces the grip with one hand.

“I want your help with something,” he states.

He feels Rey shift, her feet slowly retreating from her body to land on the floor. The lightsaber in his hand seems to draw them both in.

“Alright.”

\--

He doesn’t need to ask Rey if she brought enough supplies to last them a few days. Unlike his other self, he knows about her life on Jakku. Knows how she broke her leg falling from a ship and nearly died of starvation due to be holed up in the skeleton of a freighter during a sandstorm. _He_ doesn’t need to wonder why Rey eats the same, disgusting grey porridge every morning or makes sure to have breakfast without fail.

Instead he clears the low, circular table in the middle of Ben Kenobi’s decrepit home.

It will do.

\--

When what’s left of their first day in the desert draws to a close, Rey sits down on the couch and pulls off her boots. Takes off her jacket.

He’s never been more irritated in his life. A feeling that is only compounded when she pulls down a blanket from the top of the backrest.

“Rey.”

She sends him a tired glance.

He scowls in return. “ _No._ ”

\--

They sleep together in Kenobi’s far too small bed, her head tucked under his chin and his arm around her waist.

\--

He wakes up the next morning having to restrain a fit of anxiety when he sees her crouched by the old table. The parts of his lightsaber dissected and spread across it.

Kylo is angry enough to flip it over when Rey’s voice cuts through the urge.

“Diatium power cell,” she points, her finger moving across the parts too fast for him to retain. “Power field conductor, power crystal mount, cycling field energizers-“

His lips part. Rey’s finger keeps moving.

“-Energy modulation circuits, magnetic stabilizing ring, blade emitter shroud-“ she looks up. “Are you paying attention or am I going to have to write this down for you?”

His fingers curl into a fist at his side. “…I’ve built a lightsaber before.”

“Not _well._ ”

He glares.

Her lips press together as her brows shoot up. She waits half a standard second before she starts again. “Ring tuning flange, energy channel-“

He sits beside her, his annoyance a palpable thing that Rey ignores in favor of schematics.

\--

Kylo meditates by himself when she goes out to practice her forms. Snoke’s voice a pulsing, violent thing that is trying to reach him. But something about this ramshackle hut in the desert stops it, builds a barrier that leaves him with his own thoughts for once. Part of him hates it.

But nothing compares to the hatred he feels when he thinks about _Ben,_ sitting in a basement and wasting his life on scraps.

\--

“You can’t do it like that.”

He doesn’t look up, the idiotic goggles Ben favored resting over his eyes as he solders two wires together. It’s tedious work that he can’t stand, doesn’t have the patience for. Every minute shifting of the delicate pieces makes an itch under his skin that leaves him wanting to throw it at the wall.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” Rey sits next to him, close enough that her hair brushes his arm. His body reacts, but his will forces the urge to bury his hands in it down. It’s not time for distractions, no matter how much he wants to be distracted. “You’re rushing the emitter.”

“It’s _fine._ ” There’s a crackle, a puff of smoke rising into the air.

“ _No,_ ” she chides sternly, pointing to some miniscule thing he doesn’t see or care about. “There’s a crack here, it’ll cause the plasma to overheat-“

“ _I can do it myself,”_ he hisses.

She sends him an unimpressed look. “You’re the one who asked for my help.”

He sneers in response. And turns off the mini torch, slamming it on the table and standing up.

Rey runs a hand through her hair. “Now what are you doing.”

“Going. For a walk.”

\--

He ends up on the outskirts of Kenobi’s property, where he finds a series of ancient, broken moisture collectors. He tears them apart with the Force, crumpling the pieces into a little balls until he feels as though his frustration is finally curtailed.

Then he returns to the hut.

And starts again on the karking emitter.

\--

Rey gives him a bowl of the protein mixture she keeps on-hand. It’s tasteless, but he shovels it into his mouth with ruthless and well-performed practicality.

She sits on the other side of the room, stripping down and cleaning out the parts of her own weapon. She hides the deconstruction process from him as she does so.

“I understand if you hate me,” she says to the empty space that sits between them. “For leaving you on Takodana. But I would make the same choice if I had to again.”

He presses his lips together as he attempts to sand down the base of his crystal mount. “You know how I feel, Rey.”

Her eyes dart up in question-

“You _know_ ,” he stops her before she can say anything. The mount finally fits the space he’s created for it. “Don’t insult either of us by pretending otherwise.”

\--

The second night, after she’s fallen asleep, the tips of his fingers toy with the pendant that rests around her neck.

\--

The next morning he watches her pack. She tries to hide it, but he can tell. He notices the way she strategically counts her rations, rolls up her spare clothes and training outfits that were lying on the floor of Kenobi’s bedroom. Rey is trying to make herself disappear quietly, and that is unacceptable.

“Where are you going,” he demands from where he sits at the makeshift workbench.

Rey stills at having been caught. But then she squares up to face him, as she always does. “I’ll let you know before I leave.”

He bares his teeth, but there are no words that come out.

Instead he turns his anger toward the lightsaber that is nearly formed, his frustrations redirected to grafting the wires for the power cell.

\--

The third night changes nothing.

It’s miserably hot, and as a result sleepware has been forsaken in place of underclothes. Rey shrugs out of her pants and shirt like it’s a routine, as if her standing in nothing but her breast bindings and underwear in front of him isn’t something dangerous.

It is.                                                                                                                                                       

Kylo sits against the headboard, his own shirt discarded hours ago due to the midday heat from the desert.  And his eyes follow Rey hungrily as she goes through her nightly routine. When she glances at him, her brown hair resting over a shoulder and her fingers extinguishing the last light in the hut, there’s a near painful tightening deep in his abdomen.

Her body is a testament to strength. Arms and legs corded with hard-earned muscles, her skin riddled with freckles from long days in the desert sun and scars from battles. Some of those scars belong to him, and the thought stirs his blood and makes his fingers clench into the sheets.

Rey sends him a wary look, and he knows by it that he’s projecting his thoughts through the bond. He doesn’t care. It’s not as though it’s not reciprocated. Her eyes had rested on his arms, his torso earlier today. He doesn’t doubt that she wants him just as much as he wants her.

There’s a simple solution to that.

Rey sits on the edge of the bed, about as far from him as she can. That, too, is unacceptable. He reaches out, his fingers dancing across the back of her hand. When she doesn’t move, he traces higher, moving his touch from her hand, to wrist, to forearm. He shifts in the bed, and his fingers go to the edge of her ribs instead, ghosting over the spaces between them before drifting down to her bare stomach.

He flattens his hand against it, so he can feel the deep scar on her skin pressed against his palm. She is warm, and when she leans back into him, he moves his mouth to kiss her shoulder.

“Come to bed,” he urges. He kisses her neck, bites at it before soothing with his tongue, and she shudders in a pleasant way. He wants to make her shudder again. And again. The thumb of the hand on her stomach stretches up, lightly following the underlining of her breastband.

“I missed you,” she confesses, pivoting in her seat slowly until her knees are on the mattress, her hands resting on her thighs. Her lips quirk into a grin and his eyes stay resting on her mouth. “Not sure why, really.”

“Let me find reasons.”

She snorts. But her hand drifts up his arm, skimming the muscles of it.

Feeling her interest flare in the bond, Kylo down to kiss her. She responds, the hand on his arm moving up to grab his shoulder. He takes advantage of his full mouth to suck on her bottom lip as the thumb at her bindings slides under the cloth, his hand following it.

He barely stops a groan as his fingers dig into the soft skin of her, Rey’s lips parting underneath his as she shifts into his lap. The repressed groan escapes into a full hiss when she grazes against him, his other hand moving to the edges of her underwear.

“This is a bad idea,” she breathes when he pulls away long enough to kiss her throat, the scar under the glowing red kyber crystal.

“Why?” His hand pulls down the hem of her underwear, so he can feel the warmth of her hip. The hardness of it is a contrast to the softness of her breast and it makes him roll his own hips upward.

Her breath exhales in a short pant at that, her free hand coming to rest on his other shoulder. There’s too much between them, he decides angrily. Always, _always_ too much and now he will rectify that. He continues sliding her underwear down—

“I’m leaving tomorrow night.”

He pulls back so she can see his annoyance at her timing.

“Where.”

Her face is flushed. He doesn’t move his hands from either of their compromising positions. “The Outer Rim.”

“ _Where._ ”

“You’ll know before I leave.”

He grits his teeth. “You think I’ll want to stop you.”

“You might.”

“Why.”

“It’s for Luke.”

“ _Don’t…_ ” he shifts her weight on him. “Talk about Luke right now.”

She glides her hands from his shoulders to his neck, her thumbs resting gently on the backs of his ears. “You’re not Ben, right now.”

Hatred and a jealousy he doesn’t know how to place ignite in him. “Is that who you’d prefer.”

“No,” her simple response is enough to stopper the darker emotions from spinning out. “I just don’t want to confuse this for something it’s not.”

“Then explain what it is to me.”

“I’m never going to see you again if you go back to Snoke,” she says flatly. “I couldn’t kill you, if I had to anymore.” Her eyes glint a hard brown in the darkness of the room. “But I won’t compromise who I am for you, either. And you shouldn’t do the same for me.”

He snorts in disbelief. “ _This_ counts as compromise?”

“If you’ve decided where you’re going after this,” Rey starts carefully, “You haven’t told me. I don’t think you’ve figured it out for yourself yet.” Her voice lowers, and she looks away, almost embarrassed. “I don’t want to influence your decision, and this wouldn’t just be sex for you.”

“Would it be for you?” He accuses quickly.

“No,” she admits.

He tries to level his breathing and fails. The hand on her breast slips to her other hip and rests there. His chest pounds, desire and frustration and the hateful feeling that she is _right_ circling around and around.

“You’re asking me to wait,” he reasons out loud, if only for clarification on his end. His words are impossibly dry. “Until I’m ready.”

She looks annoyed at the phrasing. “I’m trying not to be something you resent later.”

And he would, if he decided and she still left without him tomorrow. He knows that for a fact.

“Yes,” Rey whispers in agreement, his feelings shared with her before he has time to process them for himself.

Without another word, he shifts his body, until Rey is pinned underneath him. Her brows raise, not in anger or annoyance or rejection, but in bemusement.

“What are you doing?”

“We don’t have to sleep together tonight.” The desire for that is gone, doused out with the reality of Rey’s upcoming departure. But once he makes his choice, something Rey is strangely protective of (which does discomforting things with his emotions), he won’t let her go.

For now he only moves down, pressing his lips languidly against her ribs. Her stomach.

She tilts her head up, supporting her weight on her elbows. “Kylo?”

The crest of her hip.  Below her navel.

His thumbs hook on the thin edge of her underwear. He slides them off, pulling them over her knees and dropping them to the floor. His eyes dart up to hers.

Rey’s already flushed. He can feel her pulse pounding in the Force and there’s a smug satisfaction with that.

 _You’re sure about this?_ She asks in the bond, concerned.

 _I can manage my own virtue,_ he answers.

She hesitantly threads her fingers through his unbraided hair.

He kisses her inner thigh. _Besides._ And again, higher this time as he recalls their earlier exchange. _It looks like I found a reason._

Her fingers tighten their grip.

\--

The next morning finds him waking up before the suns rise. Rey is still asleep, back towards him and the hint of a bruise forming on her neck. He traces it with his fingers, then kisses her shoulder before he gets out of the bed.

He has a lightsaber to finish.

\--

He’s been staring at the newly extended hilt of the lightsaber for a little over an hour when he senses Rey wake up. The weapon is almost perfectly modified—but for the slight discoloration on the band of metal he added. But it fits well in his hands, the grip comfortable and the weight balanced appropriately to his lightsaber form.

All that’s left is the crystal.

The original one rests to the side. It’s sapphire blue, the color vivid enough to make up for its lack of shine. He watches it, but doesn’t pick it up. Blue was a shade that never quite belonged to him.

Rey walks over to where he hunches before the work table. To his disappointment, she’s dressed in her pants and shirt—the bruise on her neck already fading due to her Force healing abilities. It annoys him, but for now he puts his focus on other things.

Like finishing the work he’s started.

His eyes go from the bruise to the pendant. _His_ crystal. One that she’s split apart, half of it resting in the hilt of her own saber. He could take it back-

“Wouldn’t fit,” she finishes his musings, sitting beside him. “The size of the containment cell would make it unstable, even with both halves.”

His knuckles pop when he clenches his fingers into a fist.

Rey’s face goes into a scrunched expression. “…Do you have the crystal I left you?”

It takes him a moment to register the statement. But then his hands reach into the belt cast down on the floor. His fingers pull out the stone, a dark violet in color.  It pulses with an energy that is unknown to him—it’s not the Dark side. Or the Light.

“Where did you get this?”

“The cave on Dantooine. Aalto-“

He tosses it down on the table, immediately disinterested.

“-told me to take it.” Rey finishes with a wry expression at his outburst.

“He’s obsessed with you,” he mutters with hatred.

“The crystal isn’t malevolent,” Rey says calmly. “I’ve had it for three years—no ill effects.”

“You don’t know why he wanted you to have it.”

“No.” She rests her chin on her hand. “But if it makes a difference, he was upset that I gave it to you.”

“You’ve seen him since Moraband?”

She gives a slow nod.

“Then why is he still alive.”

Her expression gains a hard edge. “He knows how to be a step ahead.” Her tone indicates that it’s a discussion for another time.

So Kylo struggles to refocus his attention, looking back at the crystal. “He didn’t want me to have this?”

“No.”

He shoves the crystal onto the base. “Then let him get it back.”

\--

Later that afternoon, once Rey has conducted all of her safety inspections, they spar.

When he ignites the lightsaber, it has a steady, violet blade.

\--

The suns begin to set.

Rey is slow when she shrugs on her jacket. Her hand picks up the strap of her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” He asks.

She looks out at the horizon. “Dagobah.” He stares at her profile as it is bathed in orange light. She turns to him. “Are you coming with me?”

Kylo closes his eyes. His mind finds a spot of rationality in the chaos of his thoughts. “Aalto needs to die.”

“Is that a yes.”

He exhales. “For a little while.”  
  
She smiles.

\--

“What are you doing?”

Kylo ignores her, his fingers stabbing in coordinates on the nav computer. “We’re going to Tosche Station.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not going to the Resistance.”

Rey looks at him, disappointed but not surprised. He doesn’t give her an explanation. Only stares back at her, heavy and dark.

She shakes her head. “Alright. But I don’t have credits for a transport.”

“We won’t need credits,” he says with pure rage.

\--

 _The Happabore_ sits in the mechanic’s garage before them.

“You’re joking,” Rey says in disbelief.

“It needed new power converters,” he says tightly.

She laughs for the first time since landing on Tatooine.

\--

The journey to the swamp planet goes without incident. She sends an encoded message to the Resistance about their whereabouts, and then tells him about her vision. He listens for the gaps, for the parts where he knows she is hiding parts of it. They alternate making the repairs necessary to keep the brick in the sky.

But as soon as Rey begins _The Happabore’s_ descent to the most solid piece of land she can find, Kylo feels the disturbance.

It’s loud, jagged—brimming with pain. It is the presence of a Knight of Ren.

He closes his eyes, casting out his senses. In his mind comes the image—a woman with grey, cracked skin. Pale hair. A cybernetic eye.

He swears in irritation. “Janara is here.”

Rey’s voice is just as distant, words tinged with disbelief. “And so is Soran.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Double-date night _in the pit_
> 
> -the little boy is the vision rey had of ben in chapter 13 of TDoKR, the lines luke says are also callbacks there


	19. Janara (part ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo there's gonna be a part iii of this chapter, fml <3

\--  
**Rey.  
** \--

She takes her time powering down _The Happabore._ The control lights dim as the ion engines shutter off. It might not be too late to take the cruiser back up into atmo, turn around, fly away.

Rey’s eyes glance to where Kylo stands. He’s too tall for the ceiling, hunched over the backrest of her pilot’s chair and pulling his longer hair back into a half-knot.

Run from the Knights of Ren. Whose leader stood behind her.

Former leader, she suggests to herself—not quite believing it.

“Let’s get this over with,” Kylo grumbles.

Rey’s fingers ghost over the hilt of her lightsaber, now kept on a holster at her side. Han’s old blaster rests above it. In one of the visions, Luke had warned her about Dagobah. About how she would make a choice here.

The last Jedi takes in a slow inhale. Tries to center her mind.

Rey turns partially in her seat, so she and Kylo are nearly face-to-face. His eyes seem to pin her down.

What if her choice means fighting three Knights of Ren, instead of two?

She lets her mind drift. _  
There is no death, there is the Force._

Luke sent her to Dagobah for a reason. Janara and Soran and Kylo are all here for a reason. She needs to believe that. Whatever happens, it is part of the will of something bigger than she is.

The edges of her reservation must leak through the bond, because the corners of Kylo’s lips turn down.

“What is it?”

Rey finishes the shutdown of the cruiser.

“Nothing.” And stands, brushing past him. “Come on.”

 

\--  
**Kylo.  
** \--

Of the Knights of Ren, Janara has always been one of the strongest. She, Soran, Aalto, and Dolari had stood apart from the other Force sensitives of the First Order due to their time spent on Yavin IV under his uncle’s misguided tutelage. They, along with Kylo himself, had compromised something of Snoke’s inner circle. His most valued weapons—and they all had their unique qualities.

Soran, Kylo remembers, adopted his regeneration technique after studying his wife’s Force abilities. Though not as strong as Janara, if they decide to move against him as a team Kylo anticipates a challenge.

_Good. It has been too long since your power has been tested._

He agrees. Organa had been a weak Jedi, Kanata a simpering idiot with a magwrench. It was time for Kylo Ren to reclaim his title and abilities.

Rey walks behind him, silent and her presence in the bond oddly dim.

The newly repaired door slides down, and he descends onto the swampy surface of the planet. Already, it feels too much like Jagomir, making his patience shorten even further.

Janara and Soran Ren are waiting for him, both clad in the black garbs and helms of the Knights. Soran’s robes consisting of a sleeveless black tunic and loose pants—meant for speed. Janara, by contrast, is nearly invisible under the heavy, outer robe she has always favored, the drawn hood of it nearly obscuring her mask.

“That,” Soran greets with an amused air in his distorted voice, “Is an ugly ship.”

He feels Rey bristle through the Force before he sees her reach for her lightsaber-

 _Don’t,_ he warns in annoyance.

 _This is_ Finn’s _cruiser._ She replies in a clipped tone. _They don’t get to insult it._

He turns his attention to Janara. Of the two of them, she was least insolent. “What’s the meaning of this.”

Soran, of course, feels the need to answer a question that isn’t directed to him. He steps forward, helmeted head tilting to the side. “No wrench, today?”

Kylo’s eyes narrow.

“You seem more _yourself_ , don’t you?” The professor presses, his chin tilting up to gesture over Kylo’s shoulder. “Do we owe that to your lovely Jedi killer?”

“Don’t make her your concern,” Kylo warns.

Soran’s masked face seems to meet his gaze. “Too late for that.”

“Soran,” his wife reproaches.

At his name from Janara, he takes a begrudging half step away from Kylo.

“Supreme Leader sent us,” she explains, her hands folded into the sleeves of her overrobe. “We need to talk, Kylo Ren.”

 _Aalto told him,_ Rey’s voice deducts in his mind.

“The monk led you here,” Kylo states.

Janara’s covered head gives the barest indication of a nod. “He told us you were killed by your Jedi.”

“It’s Rey,” she bites out behind him in annoyance. Kylo grinds down on the inside of his cheek.

“Rey,” Janara concedes respectfully. A rare demonstration from the woman. The Knight turns her attention back to Kylo. “Aalto has lied to us one too many times. Snoke was not pleased when he discovered that he sent Graal after you on Takodana.”

“He’s dead,” Kylo says coldly.

“Unsurprising,” Janara comments.

Soran snorts. “And unimpressive.” He crosses his arms, the tattoos on his well-defined muscles flashing. “Thudro-Shan and Mjurgo, however...”

He doesn’t like how their attention focuses in on Rey. As if they are categorizing her worth, placing her in a taxonomy. He doesn’t like them attempting to discover what he has known for years.

“What is it you want?” Rey, apparently, does not like it either.

“To discern if there is any truth in Aalto’s lies.” Janara seems to look at him. “How long since you’ve recovered?”

“A few days.”

Janara nods. “And did you kill Luke Skywalker?”

Rey’s panic is a visceral presence.

 _Don’t,_ she begs.

He stares into the lifeless face of Janara’s mask.

_Please._

He can’t present a weaker front to them than Ben Kanata already has. “Yes. Three years ago.”

“Then the Supreme Leader eagerly awaits your return,” Janara states neutrally. “You will be able to challenge the current Master of Ren for your former standing.”

He nods, impassive. Dolari would gladly surrender the position to him.

“So the girl took your memories?” Soran asks, sharp assessment palpable.

“It’s _Rey._ ” He hears muttered behind him.

“No,” his glares at Soran’s mask. “Aalto did this to me. Out of cowardice.”

There is a moment of silence, no doubt being used by Janara and Soran to communicate through their own bond.

“I suspect you’re going to kill him, then,” Soran guesses blithely.

“Soon _._ ”

“Dolari will retaliate if you make an attempt on his life,” Janara warns. “And the Supreme Leader would not be pleased to lose his Seer.”

“But…” Soran stretches the word out with a pop, his toned shoulders lifting in a shrug. “You are not alone in wanting the monk disposed of.”

Kylo’s turns his head to stare at Janara, interest suddenly sharpened.

She takes her time phrasing her next words. “He has lied to the Supreme Leader. Sent Graal to his death. Manipulated other Knights.” She makes a step toward Rey, and Kylo instantly shifts in front of her. “…interfered with her capture.”

“Twice,” Soran adds with derision.

 _Twice._ He repeats in a clipped tone to Rey’s mind.

 _It’s a story we don’t have time for right now,_ Rey hedges.

_Then you’re going to tell me later._

_Maybe._

He takes a moment to reign in his temper before turning his attention back to the Knights.

“We have no desire to become fodder for the whims of that fool,” Soran says curtly. “You know how he is. Almost everyone is disposable.”

“Nor do we want to see him tarnish the grace of the Supreme Leader,” Janara affirms. Her voice softens. “You will need allies. And we do not have to be your enemies.”

 _You wish to return to my side, do you not?_ The old whisper slithers across him.

Kylo keeps his expression neutral. There is only one thing he wants more than to see Aalto dead. And Janara and Soran would have their uses. It’s a simple resolution.

 _Kylo._ Rey’s wariness is a tangible thing as she follows his thoughts.

 _We all want the defect removed._ Kylo’s gaze moves from Janara to Soran. _He will have a harder time predicting the movements of four of us._

 _I stabbed Soran in the heart. Cut Janara in half. Killed two of the Knights,_ Rey points out, _I doubt they’ll be agreeable to a truce._

 _That’s Jedi thinking,_ he snarls back, his disdain aggressive enough to make Rey lean away from him.

 _I_ am _a Jedi!_

_One I am trying to protect!_

_By joining up with the ones who want me dead?_

_It won’t come to that._

_You don’t-_

**_It won’t._ **

“What do you want in return?” He barks at Janara, his aggravation redirected to his former companions.

“More funding, once you gain the title back from Dolari,” Soran states bluntly.

 _So you’re going back to Snoke, after all this?_ Rey’s thoughts swirl with anger. And worse, _pity._

Kylo does his best to compartmentalize the part of him that cannot separate from her. He takes a breath, addressing Soran. “Fine.”

“With less interference on my designs.”

 _Like the Starkiller?_ She near shouts in disgust.

His fingers clench tightly. But he nods.

“And exemption from the review board.”

“Done.”

“Second-in-command of forces will go to Janara.”

“Anything else.”

Janara tilts her head. Another moment of silence in which he believes Soran and Janara are conversing in their minds. Finally she unfolds her arms, one of her hands resting on her crude lightsaber hilt. “There is something. Don’t overreact.”

His frayed patience reaches the point of its extension, Rey’s disapproval echoing and reverberating in his skull. “ _Speak._ ”

“The Supreme Leader will want a replacement for his Seer.”

“Then find one.”

“We have.”

Kylo feels a wave of panic. Puzzled, he cranes his neck over his shoulder to see that Rey’s eyes have gone wide. Her lightsaber is already withdrawn, her grip on it tight.

 _What is it?_ He questions.

The look she sends him is one of betrayal, but any answer she is about to give is interrupted by Janara.

“Aalto trained an apprentice.”

“He made a contingency for himself,” Soran corrects with a roll of his eyes. “Another flow-walker.”

“The only other one we know of in the galaxy,” Janara whispers.

The panic he feels from Rey spikes, _Kylo-_

“He said it was an ability he couldn’t teach,” Kylo says with thick skepticism. Snoke had tried, for years, to determine how to use flow-walking for himself. Aalto had never trained anyone in it, hoarding the strength and making him indispensable in the process. It was the sort of slippery ambition that had kept the defect alive throughout his time in the Knights of Ren. If he passed the knowledge on to another, he ruined one of the only things that guaranteed his value to Snoke. Foolish.

Janara’s voice is level. “He found someone who could learn.”

_Kylo!_

“Snoke will want the return on his investment,” the Zabrak says. “We need to deliver the flow-walker if we want to be spared the Supreme Leader’s wrath.”

“I want Aalto’s death. The details are your responsibility-“

There’s the sound of two, muted electric punches behind him. Kylo pivots, his eyes widening and his lips parting when he sees Rey. Her face in a determined expression, her dual-toned lightsaber held in a horizontal line over her chest.

“I’m not part of this,” she hisses through bared teeth.

Kylo’s gaze travels to her weapon, then her eyes. He holds them with his own. “It will be necessary to find the flow-walker if we’re going to kill Aalto,” he explains with a patience he can barely manage.

Soran lets out a dry laugh. “He doesn’t know. That’s perfect!”

Her hurt flickers through the bond, and he doesn’t understand-

Janara does not share her husband’s amusement. “From what you know of Aalto,” she patiently explains, “Who do you think is the only person he would share this power with?”

Dread fills his chest. He does not break his stare with Rey.

“You want a flow-walker?” She whispers, rotating her blade in a fast circle until it rests behind her arm. Her feet adjust into the opening Juyo stance. “You found one.”

“My memories…” It wasn’t just a mind trick. Fear, and a little bit of awe, fill him.

Sorrow flickers across her features but she fights it back. “I brought them back from the flow.”

His mind races. Rey was already a focus of interest for Snoke. With her power, and Aalto’s specialized abilities that interest would become a priority.

_You have nothing to fear in bringing her to me, Kylo Ren. I will not interfere with your…personal agenda._

Behind him, he hears Janara and Soran take a cautious step forward.

He remembers the training. He remembers _Aalto_ ’s training. The constant conditioning to make him stronger than what his limits could contain. The endless nights serving as Snoke’s hobby—being forced to travel the paths of the flow and push his Force vision further and further into the future. Until his mind was too shattered to keep time in one place. Until his body started serving as a siphon for the malevolent presence of the chaos and pain the Knights fed off for strength. Until he became a wound in the Force, a jagged tear where all of the parallels failed to find a crossroad. At the time, Kylo had been envious of the special attention paid to the Seer by the Supreme Leader. But now he looks at Rey, the weapon burning in her hands, and he does not find anything to resentful of.

 _It was needed,_ Snoke placates. _Aalto grew to be stronger than anything the_ Jedi _would have allowed. Imagine what_ she _can do, who she will become at your side with new guidance-_

“Kylo.” Rey’s voice is not a plea, because there is no softness in it. But he knows she is asking for his decision.

“Janara and I have compiled a dossier based on our encounters with her,” Soran says in a voice that is removed and _academic._

“She’s likely to make it through the training without effect,” Janara continues.

“78.4% likely. Statistically probable.”

Kylo’s breath comes in harshly. He remembers Janara, how she was before Snoke. Her skin tattooed but not necrotic. Both of her eyes intact. How Soran had encouraged her experiments in the Force, until it had rendered her body into something barely recognizable.

 _It was for **strength,**_ Snoke reminds him. _For power to face this corrupt galaxy. Through their bond, Soran benefited from her trials. The grace of the training was shared._

“No,” he mumbles.

 _Deny your place in the Knights of Ren, your birthright,_ Snoke’s voice grow sharper, more dangerous. **_Deny me,_** _and you will watch your Jedi die. The Light Side is not enough to protect her. Choose to bring her to me now, and you will rise, Kylo Ren._

Choice.

 **_Decide_ ** _, Ren._

Kylo swallows. Rey has not moved, but he knows that soon she will. She will fight, she will survive. Because that is who she is.

“What,” his voice is dark, troubled. Conflicted. There is sweat starting to bead on his brow. “Do you want?”

Rey’s steady grip on her weapon falters, just a little. She corrects it quickly. And everything else fades into the background. Janara, Soran. Snoke. _Ben._ There is only the two of them.

“I want…” her hand trembles again. “Us to be able to go home.”

His eyes drift down to the new half of her lightsaber. The red beam steady, stable.

He closes his eyes.

_Kylo._

His hand shakes more than hers as he unlatches his utility belt.

**_KYLO_ **

He pivots to face the Knights, a purple blade emitting between them and Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY FOR REAL ACT TWO ENDING NEXT CHAPTER :'|


	20. Janara (part iii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS!!!**
> 
>  
> 
> -More graphic descriptions of violence/injuries  
> -Creepy death scenes  
> -Smut!!!!!!!
> 
> if you want to skip reading this chapter for any of those things, please let me know with a comment or message on my tumblr (gizkasparadise) and i'll gladly give you an outline on what's going on <3!

\--  
**Rey.  
** \--

There isn’t time to process what it means to see that purple light in the dark, because three more blades ignite immediately after it.

She’s familiar with them both. The twin lightsabers Soran wields in each hand, their burgundy color a strange compliment to the pale greens of Dagobah’s swamps. Janara’s blade, however, still gives her pause.

The blade is as wide as a cleaver, as unstable if not more so as Kylo’s first lightsaber, and dark grey in color. It doesn’t glow so much as sputter, a rain of sparks shooting off every time she shifts her hold. Rey less than fondly remembers being impaled on it.

With careful steps, she comes forward until she is side by side with Kylo.

 _They’re Force bonded_ , he says quietly to her.

 _Like us?_ She asks back.

_More like you and Luke. No residual injuries._

_Too bad._

Kylo doesn’t look away from Soran and Janara, but his eyebrow raises.

Rey readjusts her grip on her lightsaber. _Any preference?_

_Janara is the greater threat._

Rey takes a breath. Remembers waking up in the tank on Manaan. _Alright._

“Unfortunate,” Janara says, dragging her lightsaber behind her. It makes a groove in the swampy soil, an unpleasant smell of burning moss in the air. “Aalto took more from you than your memories.”

He gives a slow twirl of his lightsaber, the purple flickering. “You’re not taking Rey.”

Soran snorts, lifting up his two lightsabers with the reverse-grip style he favors. “Rey _is_ going back to Snoke.” His violet eyes land on Kylo, a brow raised. “I can’t guarantee how far you’ll go on this particular trip. You really want to make a disgusting swamp planet your final resting place, beanpole?”

Rey senses that the childhood nickname tweaks at an old wound, but Kylo ignores it. So does she. Instead she keeps her mind distant, open to the Force, and body coiled. Someone is going to make the first move.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Kylo.

He throws his hand up, face twisted into an expression of hard concentration. Janara’s approach slows, her feet attempting to carry her forward but unsuccessful. Rey goes to strike at her while she’s down, but Soran’s two blades fly into the corner of her vision. Rey pivots just in time to have each end of her saberstaff block them, the electric clang reverberating in the too-still of Dagobah’s swamp.

“Not too fast, Jedi,” Soran says, his face in a delighted sneer. From this angle, the plunging neck of his tunic lets her see the circular, mottled piece of skin that mars his chest tattoos. “I owe you for breaking my heart.”

 _I have Soran,_ she states across Kylo’s mind, before she shifts her weight into her heels, digging them into the mud. The momentum turns into a spin, where she breaks from their joined lightsabers and instead kicks out quickly with her foot.

He swipes down at her leg, lightsabers forming an X, but she flips back just in time.

“Nice jacket, by the way,” he taunts. “Is it new?”

Rey ignores him, lifting up her arm and spinning the blades in a circle above her head. She swings it down, deflecting as Soran retaliates. His movements are fast, stabbing motions aimed for her shoulders and chest.

There’s the sound of two other lightsabers meeting next to them, but Rey tries to ignore Kylo and Janara’s fight. She brings up her arm in reverse, the red end of her weapon aimed at Soran’s face. As he blocks, she rotates the silver end down to cut across his stomach. It doesn’t land, but she smells burning cloth as he jumps away.

 _You’re wasting time,_ Kylo grunts across her mind.

 _Concentrate on Janara,_ she replies quickly, barely bringing up her lightsaber to hold Soran’s off.

One of his arms dart under the guard of her staff, sending a fist holding the metal hilt of a lightsaber into her jaw. Rey’s head snaps back, black stars flooding her vision. Before she staggers, she has enough time to flip up the silver blade, the light cutting into Soran’s underarm.

They both cry out in pain, Rey falling backward-

 _Get up!_ Kylo screams in her head.

-and flinging her lightsaber up just in time to barricade Soran’s strike at her head.

 _I know how to fight!_ She yells back, kicking her opponent in the midsection and sending him down to the ground with her. She rolls to the left, springing up just as Soran manages to get into a crouch. They’re both covered in mud, Soran’s pulsing white tattoos brighter in contrast.

He rolls his shoulders, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. She watches as his arm flexes, the tattoos flaring and the vines around him withering as the charred skin on his side knits back together.

Force, that was going to be annoying.

Rey reaches out with the arm that isn’t holding the lightsaber, Force-grabbing at one of the partially submerged trees behind him. Soran turns at the sound of the roots breaking, and she senses his fear as she’s about to bring the heavy mass straight for him—

Raw pain implodes at the space between her neck and shoulder, and Rey’s arm falls limp as she cries out. Pain, hot and burning emitting from a deep place in her muscles. She looks to see Kylo slipping to his knees, Janara’s cleaver-like blade pressing deeper and deeper into his skin.

Grimacing with the pain, Rey _pushes_ with furrowed brows, picking Janara up and hurtling her through the air. She doesn’t have time to see where the Knight lands, as Soran moves up to close their distance, his two blades slicing down and grazing her chest.

Force lightning crackles and breaks the darkness of the swamp, catching Soran in the shoulder and causing him to spin as he falls down. She senses Kylo to her side, preparing to fire another bolt. Rey doesn’t wait for it, bringing her saberstaff overhead to crash into Soran’s neck from where he lies on the ground—

 _You’re blocking my shot!_ Kylo growls at her, breaking her concentration for a moment.

_Then don’t shoot!_

Soran rolls, Rey’s silver blade striking moss instead of flesh. She rolls her eyes up and bares her teeth, annoyed. _I had him!_

Her annoyance is short-lived, however, when an agonizing pain lands between her shoulders. Rey sags to a knee as the breath goes out of her, turning to see Janara’s lightsaber embedded in Kylo’s back.

_Kylo!_

He’s on all fours, his back hunching further as Janara presses a boot on his lower spine, wrenching her weapon out with a crudeness that reflects her fighting style. Kylo’s fists grab at the grass, and he pivots, sending a burst of Force electricity straight into Janara’s chest. The scarred woman gasps, before she topples backward.

“Janara!” Soran yells, momentarily forgetting Rey.

She takes advantage of their opponents’ distraction to channel energy through the bond. She has no idea if this will work, but she imagines the healing wash of the Force, pressing her hand to where she feels her wound and siphoning her power into it.

It must transfer, because Kylo is up again, rotating his wrist and sending his blade into Janara’s stomach.

Soran makes to assist his wife, but Rey mentally grabs the ground underneath him and rips it up in a wave. He flies through the air, blades disengaging just in time for him to avoiding landing on his own weapons.

Rey sprints, twirling her arm across her chest and bringing the saberstaff down in a charged arc. Soran reaches out with his own hand, the Force seeming to hook around her waist and throw her violently to the ground. Her hold on her lightsaber drops, and she doesn’t have time to regain her bearings before Soran drives a lightsaber through each of her thighs, pinning her to the ground.

Rey bares her teeth at the agony, trying and failing to move as Soran hunches over her and readjusts his grips on the hilts, grinding the blades further in. She cries out as he snarls above her, vision flickering with white and black spots.

She feels Kylo drop down in an echo of the damage. **_REY!_**

Breathing coming in shallow pants, she frantically claws at the ground around her, trying to grasp the metal hilt of her lightsaber. When she doesn’t find it, she improvises, fingers scraping up mud. Rey uses the adrenaline flowing through Kylo to maintain consciousness, before she digs her dirtied thumbs at Soran’s eyes.

He howls, and she tears away the blades from her legs, spinning them out into the darkness. She shoves her open hand into Soran’s chest, using the Force to propel him off of her. Once he’s tossed, she goes onto her stomach, using her elbows and arms to drag herself a further distance away from him.

Her bicep screams in pain as Kylo gains an injury and she collapses back to the ground. Frantically, she moves her hands to rest over the holes in her legs, pushing healing energy-

The wound on her bicep _thump thump thumps_ with pain and she whimpers, turning her head to see if Kylo’s been seriously maimed-

-only to find that the idiot is _hitting his own injury_ as he advances on Janara.

 _I need this arm!_ She shouts in irritation.

He startles, as if not expecting the sound, barely ducking in time to avoid Janara’s blade in his neck.

His wordless response through the bond is not quite an apology, more an acknowledgment of her being upset.

Rey shakes her head, pressing her palms over her wounds and _pushing._ It’s a hack job, one that she will need to redo later if she doesn’t want permanent damage, but it is enough to get her standing and through this fight.

The flashes of Soran’s blades announce his arrival, and Rey kicks herself up into a stand, calling her lightsaber to her palm. She goes to ignite it, but an eruption of pain springs in her thigh again—a burning gash across it that makes her stumble. She blocks one of Soran’s advances, but the other clips her arm.

 _This isn’t working,_ she mutters to Kylo as she drives her opponent back.

 _We need to be together,_ he agrees. _Use the bond to our advantage._

Rey sends her mental affirmation. _On three._

She pumps more healing energy through the bond before she springs up, slashing at Soran with uncontrolled movements—no technique, only violence. He scowls, batting them away.

_One._

Rey leans her body to one side, using the saberstaff as a brace, she kicks up to connect the toe of her boot with the underside of Soran’s jaw.

_Two._

He stumbles back and she grits her teeth as she extends both arms out, meeting at the wrists and palms open. Soran is tossed back with the wave of Force energy she emits, the back of his head connecting with a nearby tree with a sickening _crack._

_Three!_

She feels Kylo further open the bond, their movements near in sync as he turns and Rey Force-leaps toward him. They meet back-to-back, the arm holding her lightsaber flickering down as he brings his weapon up in front of his chest.

Janara stands before them, her overrobe cast off to reveal the black plates of armor, the polish of them marred by scorch marks, and the midsection cracked and torn away. The cleaver drags behind her, and Rey can feel her attention resting on them. Dark and foreboding.

“You feel each other’s agony,” she deduces calmly. “Cut her, and he’ll bleed.”

A cold shiver runs down Rey’s neck at the words, but she tightens her grip and tries her best to keep her mind clear of anything but the Force and the bond. Kylo’s presence is an unstable counter to her own, erratic and pulsating with uncontrolled anger. A surrender to the chaos she resists.

“Let’s begin,” Janara says, before swinging her heavy blade at Rey’s head.

 

\--  
**Kylo.**  
\--

At first, it’s a discomforting feeling.

Kylo Ren is used to having other occupants in his mind, but fighting _with_ another presence is something that is new to him. Initially, it’s an uncomfortable thing. She moves where he intends to strike, her defense runs counter to his offense in a way that doesn’t compliment. Unlike Rey, Kylo has had more than one fight’s experience with Janara. Because of her ability to live off of pain, the woman doesn’t bother with a defense. She makes no moves to block or parry, gives little consideration to the lightsabers that stab and tear at her limbs, sides, torso. Instead the wounds she receives are channeled into her strength—she fights like a blunt weapon, her cleaver swinging side to side with the heavy force of an ax or hammer.

One, true hit, and Kylo knows it is likely to be the end. He doesn’t doubt Rey’s ability on the battlefield—having lost to her more times than he cares to count—but she doesn’t know their opponents with the same intimacy that a former commander would.

So, by necessity, Kylo does something foreign to him.  
He…cooperates.

 _Any strike you attempt will land,_ he says, trying to be more respectful of Rey’s concentration in battle. _She has no concern for physical pain. Anything she loses can reform._

 _Then how do we beat her?_ Rey asks.

Kylo considers the question. _Exhaustion. Wearing down her connection to the Force._

Rey ducks down just as Janara’s blade severs the tree behind her head. _Fantastic._

At the edge of his senses, he feels Soran returning to consciousness—the vegetation making a decayed circumference around his prone body. _We’ll have to move quickly._

_…I’ll follow your lead._

The concession surprises him, but he recovers. And he closes his eyes, opening himself to _both_ sides of the Force in a way he never has.

Rey’s light pours over him, a balance.

Then, the fighting comes easy.

\--

She strikes, he blocks.

He favors the use of the Force, while Rey charges onward with her lightsaber. The red, silver, and purple blades a flurry of color that he doesn’t know how to separate. Janara loses an arm first, a vicious cut from Rey. Then a leg, as Kylo holds her in place long enough for Rey to get another swing. The appendages reattach themselves, but he feels Janara weakening. By the third or four loss of limb, the assembly starts to slow.

When he thinks they finally have an edge, Soran awakens.

He aims for Rey, the two burgundy blades rattling off her double-staff. Kylo shifts his attention back to keeping Janara at bay as Rey fights off the assaults of her husband. Her strikes fueled by an anger and rage that Kylo knows she is siphoning from him.

They are, for the first time, in sync.

When Janara uses the Force to tear away his lightsaber from his hands, Rey catches it and tosses it back. When Soran goes to assist Janara, Kylo crouches down so Rey can sail over him, lightsaber flaring. Their newly combined energy makes every cell in his body ignite, elevating his control of the Force as Rey’s blows land faster and faster.

Eventually, he has an opening.

Kylo takes it, throwing out his hand to stop just before Janara’s masked face. She halts, as his power swells, borrowing some of Rey’s strength for his own. Her body shakes as he takes another step closer, gradually curling the tips of his fingers.

He has her, he realizes. A revelatory thought sliding into focus.

“Your body repairs,” he comments. His brows make a sharp v on his forehead as he slowly twists his wrist. Janara’s head tilts back, she sinks to her knees. “What about your mind?”

She grunts, a strangled noise. He feels her resistance of will, a clawing thing desperate to regain control. He won’t let her. Instead he pushes forward, finding every tether she has and breaking it. Her memories spill out and over like a floodgate-

 

_-“This is it,” a younger Soran states. The sun is setting on Yavin, casting the river in a golden orange. The hike through the jungle took more time than either of them anticipated. He raises an arm to the valley._

_She smiles. Her tunic is soaked with sweat, and they haven’t eaten in hours. But this place was worth the effort to find. Even if Master Luke was likely going to kill himself with worry. Janara sits, sliding off her pack. Soran sits next to her, awkwardly and shyly kissing her cheek-_

 

 

_-The first crack in her skin that doesn’t heal happens when she is seventeen. They are still at the praxeum, and she stares at the new seam that runs along the lines of one of her tattoos with morbid interest._

_“You’re amazing,” Soran whispers._

_For the first time, she feels like she is.-_

 

 

_-Janara is held in place, screaming and screaming from where Snoke has her strapped down to the table. The Force travels through her—unkind lightning in a failing conduit. Her body shatters, repairs. Shatters again. She is broken, reformed, remade._

_On the other side of the viewing port, Soran presses his forehead against the glass. Face grim as half of her vision suddenly disappears-_

 

 

Janara’s frantic hands throw off her helm and mask, the pale hair spilling out in a wave. The non-cybernetic eye begins to roll up, the veins on her forehead and neck becoming more pronounced. “So…ran…” she rasps.

“JANARA!”

Kylo senses him break away from his fight with Rey, charging at him and blazing with hatred. Soran is angry and irrational—an uncommon marriage of feeling in the professor. Kylo knows if he moves, his hold on Janara will shatter and she will kill him. He inhales, taking a breath and preparing himself for the burn of a lightsaber as Soran thrusts both of his blades at his back-

A red blade bursts through Soran’s chest. Kylo’s gaze slides to see Rey standing behind the Zabrak, her face blank and her grip firm as she spears the man’s remaining heart.

His eyes widen, look down at the blade protruding from him in wonder. Soran tries to inhale, and is successful for a few breaths as his tattoos ignite in pure, white light. They travel to his chest, trying to reknit the hole Rey has formed there, but she keeps her hold with a heartbroken expression.

Soran sinks to his knees, inhales still coming in frenzied pants. The moss, vines, and trees around them wither. Kylo senses the deaths of the small animals who occupy the terrain. Soran tries to crawl forward, to disengage the blade, but Rey does not move until the last of the lights on his skin goes dim.

Soran takes a last breath. His head turns to his wife. His heart stops.

And Janara breaks.

Pain and agony lash out, honing her will to the point that Kylo is forced to withdraw. He holds his lightsaber in front of him, preparing for her retaliation as Soran’s body falls quietly to the ground.

Her green eye blazes bright, white teeth a contrast to her ruined skin as she bares them. Vengeance and grief storm her, and he knows instantly that she is going to do what she can to destroy him. She lifts her hands at him, palms and fingers blossoming with the acidic purple of Force lightning and he braces himself for her attempt at a fatal blow.

There is a still moment, where he sees Janara steal a look at Soran’s lifeless body, then Rey standing over it. She meets his gaze and Kylo is numb when he sees her make a decision.

With the last movement he will allow her to have, Janara rotates at her midsection and hurls all of her Force at Rey.

Rey doesn’t even have time to give a full cry. The Force lightning drives into her chest, and she all that emits is a whimper before her breath leaves her. Rey collapses, her body a limp thing that hits the ground in a graceless pile.

In the bond, he feels a brief tightening in his chest before he feels nothing. Just emptiness.

“ ** _NO!_** ” The scream claws its way from his throat, and without thinking he reaches out and grabs hold of Janara’s mind once more.

She gives a strangled cry as her body strains, veins once again prominent and blood pouring down her nose. He has never pushed this hard, but he doesn’t care. She needs to suffer.

Janara’s chest heaves, but she looks up at him in defiance.  
He only feels contempt. And nothing at all when he flexes his hand into a brief and effective fist.

Her eye becomes glassy as the life is snuffed out from her. And her body remains upright for a moment before it slides over to the side. Insignificant.

Kylo doesn’t wait to watch, moving instead to kneel at Rey’s side. His body goes numb when he doesn’t see the rise and fall of her chest.

_Rey!_

Silence.

Frantically, his hands rest over her heart. There is no beat. Stopped. Not knowing what else to do, he summons his own Force lightning and presses down into her skin.

Rey’s body jerks up, then falls flat again.

“No _,_ ” he commands, summoning up another wave of electricity.

Another jerk.

“No, _no-_ “ Another. Another. His chin quivers. “ _NO-_!”

On the fifth charge, Rey’s body jerks with a desperate and raspy attempt at air, followed by violent and painful coughing.

Kylo restrains himself long enough for her to gather air, and then he crushes her to him. Weakly, she holds on to the edges of his vest as he buries his face into the crook of her neck.

\--

A few hours later, and he is helping her build a pyre. It’s too wet on Dagobah for a real fire, but Rey takes painful efforts to draw the moisture from the wood using telekinesis. Once she’s finished, she looks up, her skin still pale from near-death.

“Will you light it?” Her request is raspy.

He looks at where Soran and Janara lay next to each other, their helmets removed. Like the Stormtroopers on Jagomir.

Rey is too weak on these matters for her own good. But he sends out a small charge of lightning to catch on the kindling.

\--

The pyre burns down to ashes.

He keeps a hand pressed down between her shoulder blades as they stand before it. Counting the beats of her heart over and over.

\--

The return to _The Happabore_ is silent, both of them limping and exhausted from the battle. He supports Rey around the waist as they cross the threshold of the ship, not letting go until she gently pries his fingers off.

She slumps down on one of the newly upholstered seats. Leans her head back and closes her eyes. Already, he sees the hints of dark circles. Her hands shake with fatigue as she struggles to take off the harness at her waist.

He kneels in front of her. “What do you need?”

Rey opens her eyes to look down at him. Thin, forced humor in her next words that neither of them feel. “My pants off, I suppose.”

He reaches up, unclicking the harness and then undoing the lacing of her pants. He slides the material down until it falls over her knees, landing in a pile on the floor. Her thighs, and he knows by extension _his_ thighs, are covered in angry starbursts. The impalement wound is gone, but the skin and muscle are still torn and tender. Above the new damage, he notices the uneven, silvery scar from when he healed her on Jagomir. After the cannock poison had nearly killed her.

Rey’s hands rest over the injuries. A faint, translucently silver glow forms under her palms. The aches he has in his legs reduce, fade. Kylo watches in wonder as she removes her hands, an even and light scar where the torn skin used to be. Far more deftly healed than the ugly line from cannock teeth.

“Luke’s a good teacher,” she explains, moving her hand to the bicep where Janara had stabbed him.

He disagrees. But now is not a time for a discussion of ideology. Her palm rests on his skin, and the pain he wasn’t even aware he had leaves his arm. The ability leaves Kylo boneless, exhausted…

Rey’s fingers fall from him in order to part the asymmetrical fold of her shirt. Where Janara hit her is a series of thin, sprawling, red lines. They make forked patterns on her skin, like the branches of a tree.

…and he’s also terrified.

Her fingertips gingerly press to her heart, the silver light flaring and her breathing coming in easier. His own chest is unchanged. He doubts there is even a scar there. He has never hated anything as much as he hated that dark, absent _nothing_ after she was hit.

“That should do it,” she says with relief. There’s a little more color in her face. She runs a hand through her hair.

“You were dead,” he states bluntly, unable to mask the resentment and fear that comes with the thought. She was dead. Janara, for however long, had managed to _take_ her. Gone.

Rey looks down to the side. Her hands fall into her lap and loosely fold. “Yeah, for a bit.”

After a minute of contemplative silence, he rests his hands on her thighs. Feels the lightly raised skin underneath his palms, solid and real. He rests his forehead on her knee with a long exhale and tries to collect himself.

Almost instantly her fingers card through his hair, strands falling loose from the knot. “We’re both still here,” she reminds him.

Kylo’s next breath is too deep, too strained. Too _much._ He imagines the thrum of electricity traveling through his veins, shocking his heart into surrender. The burn of lungs not getting enough oxygen. It is not, he knows, the first time Rey has almost suffocated. Behind his eyes he sees the orange flightsuit, the full and empty blackness of space.

The oath makes its way to his mind, cements into one truth he knows he can hold onto: that this isn’t going to happen again.

He lifts his head up enough to kiss her knee. She spreads her legs slightly, and he is about to kiss her wherever she wants when Rey shifts her weight, lifting herself up from her chair in order to lower herself down. Kylo leans back to accommodate, her body straddling his lap as her hands rest on his shoulders. He lifts his fingers to her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I’m still right here,” she promises.

He holds her tightly, the exhaustion in both of them acutely sharpening into something else. He wants to feel her, fight the memory of absence by replacing it with something else. Kylo rests his forehead against hers, struggling to keep his breathing even.

“Have you made up your mind?” She asks quietly.

He brings his fingers from behind her ear to down her jaw, tilting her chin. She follows, taking his mouth with her own. The kiss starts slow, but he lets go of the will to center himself, allowing his hunger to show as he parts her lips with his tongue and holds the back of her head. Rey matches his enthusiasm with her own, hands on his biceps and hips pushing onto his.

He rolls his waist and she pulls away lightly biting her lip, hands moving back to his shoulders.

His stare is heavy, eyes following the line of her neck until he reaches the scars. Then he has his fingers replace his gaze, trailing over them—memorizing their patterns. He anchors himself in her presence, their connection in the bond both a reassurance and something to replace the fear of loss.

_Yes, I’ve made up my mind._

She smiles, and his breath hitches when her hands go to slide off his vest. Experimentally, he pulls down the shoulders of her jacket in return. She shrugs the rest of it off, her arms and legs warm and bare where they touch him. He needs more of it, to feel her on every part of him.

Her hand goes under his shirt, feeling over the ridges of his scars and muscles. Then she removes it for him with a confident motion, kissing his neck and pressing her weight down once more. He grows hard underneath her, one of his hands grabbing onto her hip. The other strokes up and down her thigh, fingers biting into her skin whenever she moves against him.

She keeps her mouth on his neck, closing over his pulse and withering away any of the patience he might have been able to hold onto. He drives his hips up with enough force to make her gasp—a startled release of breath that spurs him forward. The hand on her thigh moves up, rolling the fabric of her tank top with it. He wants to feel every rib of hers with his lips and tongue and teeth, but the position they’re in isn’t agreeable to that urge, so it’s easy enough for him to find another. Kylo throws off her shirt the second she leans back, hand tugging off her bindings just as quickly.

His hand smooths up her toned stomach, palming one of her breasts as his lips close around the other. He curls his tongue over her nipple, listening to sharpness of her inhales to judge what parts of her he should spend most of his attention.  Her fingers press against the back of his neck, her breath in his ear and the tightness of his lower abdomen is almost unbearable—made worse when she shifts forward, then slowly backward on his lap. At his hiss against her, she repeats the motion, more deliberate than before.

He brings his hand to her the hem of her underwear, hooking his thumb in the fabric as her hands undo his utility belt, then his pants-

“Rey,” he growls, moving his lips to her shoulder, gradually working toward her neck.

“Kylo,” she replies with an odd sort of strain. There’s something in her tone that speaks to impatience. “We can do the rest of this another time.”

He pauses, wondering what that is supposed to mean when she instead kneels on the floor. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she pulls off her underwear, half-standing in order to remove the clothing fully from her legs.

His chest pounds, nearly bursting when her next move is to pull down his pants, not even bothering to fully remove them. Without breaking eye contact, Rey sinks back down, kneeling on the ground and waiting for him to make the next move.

He doesn’t want her to touch the floor.

Kylo kicks off the rest of his clothes with irritation, and reaches for her waist. His hand splays across her back. “Come here.”

She does, her knees adjusting to fit either side of his hips. The hand on her back trails to her hip, and he rubs a slow circle over the crest of it with his thumb. “This is what you want?”

Rey nods, not breaking eye contact as she rests her hands on his shoulders and lowers herself onto him.

The warmth of her has his head tilting back, a strained growl that he doubts he has ever made before reverberating in his throat. Fuck.

She adjusts around him with slow, gradual movements that are going to drive him insane. The fingers on her hip dig tightly, then desperately when she grinds her hips down. He— _they—_ feel full, but it’s not enough. He goes to drive up his hips, but she rolls back down onto him and he swears under his breath.

“I’ll lead,” she states breathlessly.

He has no reservations with complying once she begins a new pace. Rey rides him as she straddles his lap, her knees pressing tighter and tighter against his hips as he doesn’t fight against the control she has over him. Instead he watches hungrily as she moves, committing everything he can to memory. The flush on her cheeks, the feeling of her fingers digging into his shoulders. His mouth goes back to her breast, which she allows by leaning back. His other hand mimics the slow circles he made on her hip above her sex, carefully touching until her breath hitches and her movements begin to become more strained.

 _Now?_ He asks. At her wordless affirmation, Kylo directs the timing of his thrusts, driving harder and harder until he feels her push back, her fingers gripping in way that’s near painful and he brings his lips back to her throat, biting down on the side of her neck as he loses control of his rhythm and releases.

Rey tightens around him and he groans, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her closer, leaving gentler kisses on her throat and neck as she rides her climax.

Eventually, their breathing evens out together, her chest grazing his with every inhale and exhale. And he frames her face with his hands before kissing her again.

\--

They sleep on the floor of _The Happabore,_ after he’s pulled the blankets and pillows from the ridiculous bunks. Her hand rests on his chest, his over hers, and their legs are entangled.

Rey drifts off instantly, all her energy lost or spent.

For Kylo, sleep does not come as simply. He keeps track of the number of her heartbeats. He listens intently for the sounds of her breathing. He wraps an arm possessively around her and makes sure that she is still in the bond, not lost in the dark outside of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Act 2! Thank you everyone for tolerating this ridiculous, ridiculous update spree <3 I'm going to be taking a Break until probably early August before diving in to the final part of the fic, and in the meantime I just wanted to thank everyone for all the amazing comments <333 I'm working through them as I go!
> 
> -Scars from lightning [can look pretty cool](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/fc/27/cf/fc27cfff608f4305a866dbef711899ef.jpg) (Obviously don't click the link if you are grossed out by scars!! Also this fic does not endorse anyone trying to get struck by lightning)
> 
> -thank you to my partner in crime ignitesthestars for looking this chapter over + letting me IDEA VOMIT in her general direction for the last week <3


	21. Poe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, there is some INCREDIBLE!!! new fanart for this fic/the crossroads series!!!!!!!!
> 
> -miss-brown-eyes was a wonderful person and commissioned the talented panda-cappucino to do a scene from Chapter 14 of The Death of Kylo Ren! It's of their first kiss!! and it's located [here!](http://gizkasparadise.tumblr.com/post/149622650422/miss-brown-eyes-and-i-dont-even-know-if-i)
> 
> -undermoonlit-skies & neiticora are AMAZING and did this RIDICULOUSLY BREATHTAKING fanart of Kylo + Rey vs. Janara + Soran. IM IN LOVE THANK YOU! it's located [here!](http://gizkasparadise.tumblr.com/post/149110846642/undermoonlit-skies-a-gift-for-gizkasparadise)
> 
> second of all, HI EVERYONE I MISSED YOU. hope you're ready for some FINAL ARC action <3!
> 
>  **WARNINGS** this chapter for death  & drowning & general me being rude

**\--  
** **Rey.  
** **\--**

 

She wakes up to a light movement following the ridge of her spine. Her weary mind tries to orientate to her current surroundings—the soft fabric of a blanket over a hard floor, the fact that there is someone next to her.

The latter isn’t all that impossible. She’s had people in her bed before, but something is nagging in her mind as to why this one is different—

The careful touch against her back—fingertips?—becomes replaced with something else. Her eyes still closed and laying on her stomach, Rey rests her cheek on her folded arms as she feels the slow, hot movements of lips pressing against her skin. Open-mouthed, insistent kisses follow from the small of her back to the base of her neck. Rey feels the ridge of a nose press against the outside of the shell of her ear, a slightly strained breath.

“You shouldn’t,” Kylo Ren mutters in her ear with the hint of a rasp, “Be thinking of anyone else.”

Awareness slides into place. She’s on Finn’s ship, _The Happabore._  
…and she’d slept with Kylo Ren.  
And died the night before.

Kylo stills when she has the final thought, one of his hands ghosting limply over her waist. She feels his heartrate spike next to hers. The _anger_ in their bond a smoldering, numbed thing that she thinks will one day catch and swell into an inferno.

Rey opens her eyes, blinking away sleep. And gently untangles her consciousness from his—in the space between waking and sleeping, that connection is too vulnerable. Too open. She’s never been an open archive for anyone, and she doesn’t want to share all the things that belong only to her.

“Don’t shut me out.” His fingertips press into her skin.

“You can be a little shut out,” she says with a carelessness that should feel inappropriate but somehow doesn’t. Maybe she’s just reached the point of exhaustion that lends itself to constant euphoria. That’d be nice, right about now. Efficient, in the light of things that still need to be done.

While Rey’s made an effort to withdraw, Kylo’s made none to conceal or restrain his will. His thoughts and emotions are a pulse that follows the backbeat of her breaths, her heart. He’s a desperate, chaotic whirl that seems to almost encompass her—his thought patterns nowhere near as fuzzy or sleep-induced as her own. They are sharp, cutting things that are so entangled she doesn’t know where to break them out in order to sort.

She shifts, moving onto her side so that they are face to face. He hovers over her, his nose brushing hers. His eyes are red-rimmed with dark circles underneath them. They sink the dim light of the early morning like pits. And she hears it like drum, the waves that could drown them both—right now it’s an easy, gentle thing—water against the sand. But she senses the tide rising.

And Rey realizes she was wrong. She can’t be fully careless, or it’ll make sieves. The lax comfort of waking up fades away into something more guarded. “Did you sleep?”

Instead of an answer, he tilts his head to the side. His kiss is deep and hungry and _warm,_ and Rey finds herself falling into it. The hold on her waist tightens, the other hand splaying across her stomach—his fingers heavy.  Rey shifts, angling her body to be flush against his. And she senses the vortex spinning in his mind as it finds a nexus. Whatever it is that’s bothering him, he thinks Rey is its solution. The hand on her stomach goes up to cup her breast, she feels him grow hard against her bare thigh.

She pulls away with some reluctance. “What is it?”

His eyes flicker and stay on her mouth. “Nothing.”

“Kylo…”

“Nothing that can’t be dealt with _later,_ ” he insists. He rolls his thumb over her nipple, and Rey gives out a small sigh that she isn’t sure is pleased or annoyed.

He leans in to kiss her neck, hard and bruising and it’s like a small, electrical shock has been sent down her spine. The flat of his tongue travels up the column of her pulse, small bites that are instantly soothed by his lips and she feels a different sort of adrenaline flood her veins.

“Later,” she warns, one of her hands moving down to stroke the muscles of his stomach. He tenses with a sharp inhale before she moves her touch lower.

Instead of an answer, his hand comes up to cup the back of her head as he lays her fully back on the floor.

\--

Later happens an hour or two after, when she’s tracing the cords of muscle in the forearm that’s wrapped around her shoulders and feeling his exhales on her neck. Rey’s heart and mind never seem to catch up with one another where he’s involved—adding the rest of her body seems to be too many variables.

“It’s not,” he grunts in annoyance to the outside of her ear. The arm around her flexes before going still, a lax weight drawing her back against his front.

After a moment, she leans against him. They lay in silence, warm and sated and she can’t help but feel the tides shift, rearrange into different flows that split into divergent paths. Rey’s mind unhooks from her body, the material slinking away-

-his arm tightens around her. And Rey blinks.

“Is that it,” he grunts, more aggravated than awed by her perception of the paths of the Force.

“Flow-walking?”

She can’t see his face, but the intensity of his stare crawls up her neck. He tries to soften it with a kiss to its nape, but she isn’t convinced. “Tell me what you see.”

Rey closes her eyes. Before she can firmly shutter the veil between them, she knows he can see flashes of it—the rust-colored sands of Moraband, Luke lying next to her as they draw patterns in the sky, Aalto charging forward, hunched at the gut and screaming her name-

Rey drives the thoughts for her mind just in time to avoid Kylo attempting to grab hold of them. A trickle of cold sweat runs from brow to under her chin and there’s an unescapable chill that sinks into her when she realizes what the next course of action has to be. Because even in the flow, there are anchor points—places where all paths converge even for a moment before they are swept away. Ben Kenobi’s hut on Tatooine had been one; the sad, empty room on Dantooine another. And now…

Rey closes her eyes. And for a moment, she lets go to the sensory—the weight of his arm, the grazing of his bare chest to her back with every inhale. This moment is a waypoint, not a harbor, and she needs to be able to let it go in order to move forward.

 _Restless._ The thought’s not her own, and she barely stops herself from turning around to ask him what he meant by it. But Rey doesn’t want to make the clouds around him darker, and so instead breathes in slowly from her nose, tightens the grips her hands have on the forearm slung over her chest, and does not open her eyes.

And she begins her first steps along the next path. “There’s somewhere I need to go.”

Rey know he doesn’t want to acknowledge her. That if it were up to him, right now they wouldn’t move from this spot. But she also knows that conviction would fade and fester—he has just as much of a destiny as herself, is just as unable to walk away from it.

His voice is low and unhappy. “Where.”

Rey opens her eyes and keeps them trained on the wall of the shuttle, trying to find a name for the place so clearly etched into her mind. The next anchor. And…like Kenobi’s hut, this one is not for her.

Finally, she shakes her head. “I have to show you.”

He buries his nose in the space between her neck and shoulder. The edges of his teeth rest lightly against the rounded edge of her shoulder. The thrum of his heart echoes in her lungs and she gradually lets go of his arm.

“And what happens there?” He whispers, lips replacing teeth.

She sees two images cross her mind—flares of purple and red—and pushes herself up into a sit.

“That’s up to you.”

\--  
**Kylo.**  
\--

She’s hiding something.

He follows, barely a pace between them, as she leads them through the muck. In the near-constant darkness of Dagobah’s swamps, the scorched foliage where they built the pyre the night before is near unnoticeable. In a day or two, it’ll be gone—claimed by water or mud. As if their fallen opponents had never existed. It’s a kinder fate than Janara deserves. Rey stares at it for a few moments before she takes a breath and presses forward.

He watches her back. She’s left the jacket behind on the cruiser, her hair lazily swooped into a knot near the top of her head. There’s a supply pack around her waist but it’s small—she knows, without a doubt, that wherever they are heading it won’t be a long visit.

Kylo’s thoughts drift to Aalto as he looks at the thin fabric of her shirt cling to the ridges of her spine. He’s never liked the fixation the seer had on her—knowing that she is willing to use _his_ abilities to keep him in the dark feeds the rage further. That Aalto intended on training her to replace him in Snoke’s service drives that rage to purpose.

Kylo’s fingers wrap around the hilt of his lightsaber. He sees the electricity form in Janara’s palm, her fingers splay-

As soon as they’ve finished whatever it is Rey needs him to see here, he knows what has to come next:

No one is allowed to threaten her and live. No one is permitted to think they can take her from him without consequences.

\--

A few hours later, she stops. Her thumbs are hooked in the belt of her pack, back to him and gaze unmoving from something further north of them. He doesn’t care about whatever holds her attention beyond it not being himself, and moves to wrap an arm around her waist. His fingers spread over the ridges of her ribs, easy to count underneath the thin fabric. He lets himself sink in to the patterns of her breaths, determining the measures of her breath and searching for irregularities. She inhales for six counts, exhales for eight-

“We’re here,” she breaks his rhythm. Steps out of his grasp.

He reaches for her again, a hand around her forearm this time. She looks over her shoulder at him with a bemused expression.

“What is it?”

He doesn’t know how to articulate it—the driving anxiety that makes him need to reach out, to affirm that she isn’t…

His index finger rests over the pulse in her wrist. He counts. He’s counted every beat she can offer him. He’ll keep counting until the rest of them are dead.

“Kylo.”

Eight seconds. Twelve. Twenty-

“Ben.”

His gaze snaps up at that, a glare as a burst of resentment fills his chest. Rey only stares at him, her face no longer confused but worried.

“We’re here,” she repeats quietly.

“I don’t care.”

Her brows furrow. She has another answer to a question that hasn’t happened yet and he _hates_ it. “You will.”

“Stop,” he demands. His grip on her tightens.

Her opposite hand rests lightly over his. Her fingers trace over his knuckles in a wordless request to let go. “Stop what.”

He lets his hand drop, but then the other pulls her to him. She allows him to hold her closer, but she doesn’t reciprocate it. “Stop talking like _him._ ”

Kylo senses her need to refute his statement, but he feels the spark of outrage in her dim into something more like shame. She lifts her hand, brings her thumb across the plane of his cheek. Her skin is too warm. An infection? He can almost smell the sickened skin from her cannock bite years ago-

Her hand drops to splay in front of his chest. She lightly presses the inside of her palm over his chest. “You can’t do this to yourself,” she whispers, looking up. Looking afraid.

“How are your wounds,” he demands.

Rey shakes her head. She takes a step back in order to walk past him. “Come on.”

“ _Rey_!”

A few steps ahead, she stills but does not look back. “Please, Kylo.”

His lips part. For the first time, he looks past her.

And sees the dark opening of a cave.

He knows which cave this is, has heard stories of it. Knows what it holds.

 _Betrayed,_ is all he thinks. _I’ve been betrayed._

“Why would you take me here,” he mutters, all rage fleeing him to be replaced with something broken and afraid.

Rey’s face is blank; her feelings in the bond carefully obscured. Her fingers drift to the hilt of her lightsaber. Her pupils dilate before her eyes flutter shut. In lieu of an answer, she only lowers her head.

“ _Why._ ”

She bites her lower lip. “Because…”

The cave beyond them _pulls—_ tethers wrapping around them both.

“…you have to know what you take with you.”

His fingers tighten into fists. “And if I refuse?”

She gives him a faint, sad smile. “You won’t. All your paths meet here-“

“ _Enough_.”

He stalks forward, cranes over her. Their faces are barely apart but she hasn’t opened her eyes. “If I do this-“ he starts, everything rattled (his breath, his hands, his nerves), “-No more running, Rey.” His eyes narrow when she finally looks at him. “No more doubting me.”

Her only answer is her eyes filling with tears, which she rubs away with the heel of her hand before she begins to walk forward without him.

\--

Later, when he thinks back to this moment, he’ll do it with the realization that she already knew he would fail her.

\--

She never ignites her lightsaber, and so he doesn’t know the exact moment he loses Rey.

The cave is dark and deep, the light rescinding behind him—eaten by the long shadow his figure somehow casts. One moment she is before him, the next there is nothing but the black.

His chest constricts. Because first the black is endless, a void where he has hidden what he loves. It stretches and winds around his legs, his arms, his throat. It hones into an edge that grazes his chest in sharp, jagged patterns.

He hears their voices, different and echoing:

 _“So…ran…”_ A woman rasps against his throat.

A man’s cry travels down his spine. “ _JANARA!”_

And finally his own voice, loud enough to rip shreds of white into the black:

**_“NO!”_ **

Then the black is different. It is scarred with streaks of red and green, of a distant figure clad in orange and left alone-

Kylo throws up his outstretched hand-

\--

His boots touch the metal flooring of _The Finalizer’s_ bridge. The black is still there, but contained on the other side of a duraplastic viewport. Kylo, for the first time, feels himself relax. He watches the darkness before him without fear for the first time since…

He has never been completely without fear. This is the first time.

“That’s because you have mastered it,” comes a woman’s voice. He knows it as well as he knows his own, and without thinking he lifts his arm to his side and she steps into his hold without hesitance.

She places her own hand at the opposite side of his waist. “There’s nothing left out there that can hurt you.”

 

Kylo casts out his perception before he nods and draws a deep breath. The sound of his inhale rattles as it passes through the metal of a mask. “I can hear it,” he agrees, his voice deeper though no less in awe. “The silence. There is no one else in the Force.”

She rests her cheek on his shoulder, the arm he has around her tightens. In the viewport, he can see their reflections—the helm of Kylo Ren, and Rey’s eyes glowing yellow underneath the edge of her dark hood stare back at them.

“This isn’t possible,” he mutters.

“Yes, it is.” She watches their distorted images without concern. “Search your feelings. It can be true.”

Kylo’s breath comes in short. He doesn’t-

She smiles. “…And you’ll know that, sometimes, I come to you.”

Behind them, there is the reflection of a third figure—blurred, but the twin, silver blades she holds break apart the dimness of the bridge.

He steps backward. “Rey-“

He turns.  
And it is the Rey with yellow eyes that stands before him. The silver fades, light suffocating from the ship, from the expanse of the universe behind them.

“You want _this,_ ” the doppleganger affirms. Her glove-covered hands reach for his. Her touch is real, warm. The extinguished flashes of silver leave his mind.  “There are no limits here. You are not burdened by your mother’s grief or your father’s ghost. Luke Skywalker is nothing but a lost memory; the Rebellion a lost cause.”

She leans forward, raising herself on her toes so her mouth can come to his ear. Her lips brush the metal of his mask, her next promise speaks to his greatest need.

“Here, I will never let you be _alone_.”

He does not think as he presses his shaking hand in between her shoulders. He does not care as he brings Rey to him and holds her with the clear intention of never letting go.

“This can happen?” He asks quietly.

Over his shoulder, Rey’s lips curl into a smirk. “Not yet.”

With a slow movement, she pulls away from him. She cups the hard planes of his mask for what feels like a final time before she steps to the side. With steady footsteps, she walks forward, following the narrow line of the bridge toward a room that did not exist before. It is dark, but he never loses sight of her.

Kylo watches her figure become smaller as she crosses the threshold of the door. She takes a slow look over her shoulder and smiles at him before she turns to face someone else. Rey kneels down on one knee, then the other, and the last image he has of Rey is her bowed head before the doors close behind her.

The dark washes over him. For once, he is unafraid of drowning in it.

\--

His lungs scream for lack of oxygen. Kylo’s eyes snap open as he awakens, his limbs slow and syrupy as he tries to swim up toward where he sees the sun. With a powerful kick, he breaks the surface, tossing his head back as he heaves long gasps of air. The ocean around him is bright and clear blue, dimpled with silver reflections from the sun. He coughs as he tries to orientate himself, his robes (thin, brown) clinging to his skin.

Awkwardly, he swims toward the shore, stopping once his feet can touch the sinking bottom of sand. The water parts from him in heavy curtains, framing either side of his hip as he tries to move forward. The land in front of him is made of white, fine sand; framed by tall palms and lush, green foliage. The sky is wide and clean of anything but clouds.

And there is a body, laying facedown in the water by the shoreline. Off-white linen floats on the water like seaweed. Three, small buns adorn the back of its head.

He runs, water and sand and sky disappearing until there is only the two of them. Kylo grabs her shoulder, pulls her onto back and-

-and.

Kylo crushes her to him and screams.  
  
\--

  
It happens again. And again.

Her fighter is shot down.  
She is hit by a blaster in the chest.  
The air supply runs out.

Aalto plunges a lightsaber into her back in the desert.

Every time, he is too late. Every time, he holds her body to him and refuses to let go.

And eventually, the others are there. The traitor. The old spy. His worthless uncle.

He kills them for not keeping her safe ( _“Ben!”)_. Because she dies for them, always ( _“STOP!”)_. He cuts them down without remorse, all but his mother who stares at him with sad eyes before he disengages his lightsaber and walks away _(“Why?”)._

\--

This time, the dark does not wash over him. It grows within until he no longer has the will to stop it from consuming.

\--

There is a final path.

He sits by himself, his knees crammed underneath a table too low for him. Surrounding him are stacks of blue, square holocrons. A pair of goggles rest on his head, his body is clad in beige and brown robes.

He is not angry. He is not afraid.

He sits. And when Ben Organa looks up, Kylo Ren meets his endless, empty stare.  
  
And knows that here, he is _nothing_.

\--

The cave is brighter when he returns to his body, the midday sun washing it in sheets of grey.

He drops to his knees as though all the air in him has been left out. The harsh floor of the cave digs into him, but he feels painless; numb. Kylo looks up at Rey, standing there _alive_ and he sees it all unfold in front of him again. All the loss, and loneliness, and what it felt like to reach out into the abyss and find nothing to hold onto.

“What were you doing?” She asks with a rasp. Still afraid of him. Of what they are. What they could be.

He stares at her, hollow. In his mind, he sees her as she was on that first path—her eyes yellow, her promise. Confident in them, in what they could do together.

His fist clenches. He’ll change the fear for her. He _will-_

“Kylo?”

He slumps. The image of them powerful and together is replaced just as quickly with the beach. The forest.  The plains. The desert. Her yellow stare gone in favor of one that’s glassy.

He hears her booted feet take steps closer to him. When she speaks next, her voice is determined; almost angry. “We need to talk about your visions.”

No. They don’t.

Once he sees the toes of her boots in his line of vision, he looks up. Her stern expression falls from her face, replaced by shock at whatever it is she sees in him. Before she can say anything else, before she can hate him, Kylo presses his face against her stomach, fingers digging into the fabric covering her thighs. The words don’t come, so he only sits there— _weak—_ and clutches. Tethers himself to the anchor that will drown them both if she lets it.

For the first time since the beach in his vision, he breathes.

After a long moment, he feels Rey’s fingers card through his hair. Slow movements that separate the strands and cause it all to fall from the knot that’s holding them back. Her calloused fingertips graze his scalp and his eyes squeeze shut. He can’t let this be replaced by ghosts, by him whispering to a dark that does not answer.

“ _Don’t leave me.”_ The ferocity of his words frightens her, he can feel it. Her hands still in his hair. He sends her an image of what he’s seen in the cave through the bond—the two of them, side by side and clad in black. Staring out at an endless abyss that he knows he could claim for her if she’d let him.

“I saw all your visions,” she confesses. There’s a pause, and then she adds: “And I’ve seen this one before.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “On Moraband.”

He doesn’t care where she’s seen it. He only cares that it’s a possibility, that it’s one that lets him have anything he wants.

“Stay by my side.” He is exposed. Kylo is _surrendering_ in a way he has never had to before. If she rejects him, if she ruins _this,_ he doesn’t know if he can forgive it. “We’ll have the galaxy. Anything you want.”

“We want different things.” She is so quiet _,_ like anything she says might break him. Maybe she’s right. He hates her for it. Or loves her. His fingers tighten their grip.

“We’re stronger together.”

“I know.” Her fingers begin to run through his hair again. “But that’s only one kind of strength. And it doesn’t last.”

“You’d go back to them?” He rasps against her. He can’t look and see _pity_ in her face. “The cowards and traitors and thieves-“

“They’re my family.”

“ _They failed you,_ ” he snarls. “Over and over again! _I_ could-“

“Please,” she cuts him off with pain in her voice. “Don’t. Talk about what you did in those visions.”

He changes his grip, moves his fingers from her thighs to the small of her back. Pressing his forehead into her stomach as he tries to fight the cold that is crawling into him. There is little he fears, but he fears being in the dark alone. He fears losing the small light that breaks it apart. And there aren’t words for it, this terror that he can’t shake or lose. So he shows her.

He conjures up his visions. Of seeing her fall, again and again. Murdered by Aalto. Murdered by her friends. Taken from the universe, from _him._

She sinks slowly to her knees, her hands guide his face from her stomach to chest, and she just _holds._ He does not realize his breathing has grown short until she waits for him to regulate it again. Once he does, she leans away so she can meet his gaze.

“I did die,” she tells him. “When Janara hit me. I was gone. It’s already happened.”

He stills.

“It wasn’t…It didn’t hurt,” she continues, and he _hates_ every word falling from her mouth. Poison given to her by his uncle. “It was quiet. There’s no real death, Kylo, just the Force-“

“ _The Force can’t have you._ ”

“Yes it can,” Rey says calmly. Insistent. “And I’m not afraid of that. Not enough to turn from the Light.” Her eyes go distant, and there’s no doubt she’s following the paths _he_ set out for her. “And it’s not about ownership. Can’t you understand that much? Wanting to keep something impossible is what makes suffering inevitable, Kylo.”

He finally pulls away to meet her gaze. There is no pity, but what is there is worse. _Resignation._ It’s unacceptable—losing _this_ is unacceptable.

“I turned from my power,” he spits. “I turned from it _for you._ ”

“That was your decision.” One set of Rey’s fingers falls from his hair. Rests on his shoulder. “I can’t be the only thing that you believe in, Kylo. That isn’t fair.”

He feels his eyes go wide. And through the bond, he sees the visions through her eyes. Watches as he unravels with her loss, as he runs his lightsaber through her friends, through the people who couldn’t protect her. He doesn’t argue it. He would and could tear down the world if he had to. He’d burn planets.

“Don’t you understand,” Rey asks, and he’s afraid of the tears that start to gather in her eyes. “Why that’s wrong?”

“No.” He doesn’t. He won’t. “I love you.”

“That’s not the kind of love I want.”

“It’s what I can give.” He sneers. He remembers her words from so very long ago. The bitterness is thick on his tongue. “You have a creature that loves you, Rey.” His voice deepens, sounds far away and not wholly himself. “There are consequences to that.”

“You’re not a creature.”

“I was to you once. What am I going to be to you after you go back to your precious Resistance?” He brings his hands to the sides of her face, cages her. Forces her to understand _._ “Will you let them fail you? Would you ever see me again?”

Her hands rest on his wrist, thumbs over his pulse. “I want to,” she says in a tone that lets him know that she _wouldn’t._

“What is this to you?” Kylo demands, his blood running hotter and hotter in his veins.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Then why won’t you fight for it?”

“Because you’re not the only person that I love.” Rey’s voice breaks, and there’s something that pleases him about the weakness. No Jedi _lies,_ just Rey. The scavenger from Jakku. “Leaving them is selfish-“

“But you want to leave them?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” She tries to pull back, but he holds her in place. “I won’t _abandon_ my family. Not for anyone.”

Realization hits him, and the dangerous words are out before he thinks them through. All he knows is that he is in agony once again, and he wants her to share it with him. “Like you’ve left them already?”

Rey flinches. He senses the opening and presses forward.

“Three years,” he says in a low tone. “Is a long time to be away.”

She bites down on her lower lip.

“I sat alone every night,” he murmurs. “Watching the sky and wondering when anyone was going to come back for me.”

Rey winces.

“No one did.” He stares straight into her eyes. “You _abandoned_ me first, Rey. You left the others behind. And for what?”

She looks away.

“ _For what_?”

“I made a mistake,” she says around a hitched breath. “And I’m sorry.”

He looks at her, defeated. The echo of the vision’s promise circles in his mind.

_I will never let you be alone._

Rey watches him with watery eyes. He feels her sorrow in their bond, the remorse at his now constant fear.

But she does not offer him the same oath. Instead she wraps her arms around him and he tries not to resent her for her silence.

\--

They don’t leave the cave. Instead, Rey quietly asks if he wants to meditate.

He’s never wanted anything less—which is clear to them both, as he senses she didn’t honestly want him to join her. He glares as she folds her legs, as she rests the back of her hands against the tops of her knees. Another form of running that he can no longer tolerate.

But because of the bond, Kylo finds himself lulled into a more tranquil state. The aftereffects of Rey’s meditation do not calm his thoughts, but his body slips into exhaustion—his hands stop clenching, his jaw unclenches.

Rey falls deeper into the Jedi trance. And Kylo unwillingly falls asleep.

\--

_At first he thinks it’s a dream. Or worse, another vision._

_The sun bears down on him, making his mouth immediately dry and his eyes narrow. As far as he can see, there’s red-tinted sand, cresting and waning in dunes across the horizon. The only thing that breaks the monotonous landscape apart is the rotting carcass of an AT-AT Walker, collapsed on its side._

Jakku, _he realizes immediately. Because he has seen this place before, in Rey’s memories._

_This is her home._

_He goes to walk forward, but finds that his body does not obey his command. Instead, he sees what are undeniably Rey’s arms instead of his own push open the door. He feels it as Rey’s leg muscles strain when they climb the steep ladder to her home._

_The bond, he realizes quickly, has done something new. Kylo is only a passenger here._

_“Rey?” A voice asks in awed disbelief._

_Rey turns her head. Her heart speeds up at what she sees._

_Aalto sits on the cot nearest to the wall, running his hands lovingly against the scored tallies in the metal. He is not wearing his mask or heavy cloak, only loose robes. His normally pale skin is coated red from the harsh desert sun, small blisters apparent on his nose. When he looks up, the near-colorless eyes stare at Rey with such undisguised_ want _that it drives another spike into Kylo’s rage._

_“Rey!” He smiles—the expression complete with its familiar, twitching corner. As he stands from his spot, the toe of his boot catches an empty tin of what looks to be mints, the sound echoing in the metal belly of the Walker._

_When he moves toward her, Rey gives an audible hiss. Kylo follows her gaze past the seer to the floor._

_The Monk was not there alone._

_At the base of Rey’s cot kneels Poe Dameron. His head slumped forward, with dark blood trailing from the temple down the side of his face. The pilot’s arms are bond with restrainers behind his back, and it’s clear he’s under the influence of Aalto’s Mind-Walking. He’s looked more comfortable, Kylo thinks passively._

_“Let him go. Now,” Rey demands. Her hand goes to the hilt of her lightsaber, but he knows it’s pointless in whatever place they are._

_Aalto doesn’t acknowledge the statement, instead walking closer. The smile leaves his face in gradual inclinations, and by the time he stands in front of her, his lips are pressed in tight line._

_“Rey,” he whispers softly. His hand hovers over her temple, as though to sink in her hair even though she does not have a physical form. Murderous intent coils around Kylo. “You said Luke told you to go home.”_

_“You told me Luke was dead!” Rey shakes her head. “Release. Poe.”_

_Aalto slides his index finger from side to side in front of her face. “No. I will never be the one that hurts you Rey, I’ve told you that-”_

_“Let go of Poe!”_

_“Did you lie to me, Rey?” It is asked with what sounds like genuine hurt._

_“Poe. Now.”_

_“Because you either lied to me, or you disobeyed Luke-”_

_She moves through him, kneeling beside the pilot. She has just a moment to peer at Dameron’s face before Aalto cuts the image in a fit of frustration. Poe disappears, as does the surroundings of Rey’s home. All that’s left is Aalto, Rey, and a series of branches and threads that Kylo has never seen before._

_“I’ll kill you,” she snarls, pivoting to face him._

_He stares at her. The look starts at the profile of her face, travels down the length of her neck. Kylo recalls the vision. Of Rey, Aalto, the knife, and the desert. And everything grows cold. “You shouldn’t lie to me, Rey.”_

_Her fist clenches. “What do you want in exchange for Poe.”_

_Aalto’s face grows soft. “I don’t want anything for the pilot. He doesn’t matter.”_

_“Then why hurt him?!”_

_“I want something for Tatooine.”_

_Rey’s eyes go wide and Kylo curses her inability to hide her reactions. “What?”_

_Aalto steps forward once again. His fingers connect with Rey’s, though she immediately snatches her hand back. He flinches at the rejection._

_“You’ve upset me twice now, Rey,” he says softly. “First when you gave my gift to_ him, _and now you haven’t been honest.” Aalto closes his eyes. When he speaks next, the wistful tone is gone, replaced by something crueler. “You have three days to meet me on Jakku, Rey. Or I will have to use the detonators I installed in Anchorhead.”_

_She pales. “You’re lying.”_

_“Only one of us is a liar, Rey,” he reminds her gently. “The charges were planted years ago--I’ve been able to see Tatooine for a long time now, ever since Moraband if you’ll remember.” He clears his throat. “Three days. Please don’t keep me waiting any longer.”_

_“Stop-!”_

_The threads and branches fade._

\--

He wakes before she returns to consciousness. And all he can think about is the vision—the desert. The beach. The plains. It all plays over and over again in his mind.

It is not a decision when Kylo moves to kneel in front of Rey. Before she can return from her trance, he extends his index and middle finger outward. With a quick swipe of them in the air, he pushes her consciousness further back, until Rey abandons meditation and enters sleep. His hand catches the back of her neck, and he carefully lowers her to the ground.

He watches, feels the lingering panic and fear from the visions stir in his chest. And he knows what it’s finally time to do.

Kylo silently kisses her. And then he leaves.  
Alone.


	22. Dolari

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE BEAUTIFUL FANART FOR THE SERIES! Thank you so much to kylorenjyn for their beautiful sketch of a scene from Chapter 3 of The Death of Kylo Ren, [here](http://gizkasparadise.tumblr.com/post/152445013152/kylorenjyn-inktober-day-20-squeeze-this-one)! 
> 
> **Warnings** this chapter for death, violence, and dudes being assholes to Rey in a flashback 8(
> 
> thank you everyone for your comments, I super appreciate it & apologize for being so slow in responding to them!

**\--**  
Kylo.  
\--

 

He sits in the cockpit of _The Happabore,_ eyes red-rimmed and fingers tensing as the pads dig into the cold, metal surface of the controls. Beyond the viewport of the cruiser’s front window, there is nothing but the dark—silhouettes of trees and vines only made apparent in barely distinguished outlines.

It’s like before. Jagomir.

He closes his eyes. He remembers it clearly: kissing her before sending her away. Watching as she took his shuttle and left him stranded—trusting her to save him.

His fingers press down tighter against the metal. It had been four days before the nearest First Order squadron could rescue him. Four days of waiting, of wondering if she had given up on him at best, been hit down by Rebellion fighter at worst.

It was during that time of waiting that he confirmed his suspicions for the first time, that he was able to acknowledge the Force bond for what it was.

He takes a deep breath through his nose. In the bond, she is still asleep. Safe.

Kylo won’t abandon her. Which means there is only one choice—even if it’s one he hates.

His exhale is long, but he expands his consciousness. Finds the line, long neglected and unused:

**_Mother_ ** _._

For a moment, there’s silence. But then:

_Ben?_

He clenches his jaw. _No._

His mother’s voice is distant and sad when it once more sounds in his head. … _I suppose it was only a matter of time._

He counts to ten. Makes it to five. _Come to Dagobah._

_What for?_

_Rey is here._

An edge comes into his mother’s voice. _What’s happened?_

_She’s safe. Keep her that way._

**_Ben-!_ **

He slams the connection shut as quickly as he can, and before he can think about it or regret it, he begins to punch in coordinates. Because of their shared memories, he knows the location to Niima Outpost just as well as Rey herself. Just before he is about to lift the cruiser into the air, he feels a brush of something against his senses—like the light trail of fingers.

 _Don’t go,_ it whispers to him.

He closes his eyes. Feels her presence in their bond—weak and muted from her deep sleep, but still strong. Still his.

 _I’ll come back for you,_ he vows.

And without a look back, he switches the power.

It’s only a day’s travel to Tatooine from Dagobah. He needs every second of advantage he can take.

 

\--

Kylo does not sleep during the journey.

\--

 

The Niima Outpost has not changed, but it becomes clear from the moment _The Happabore_ touches the sands that Kylo has. Because as he looks out at the tents, the market, and the long and winding line to Unkar Plutt’s exchange, he _feels_ things.

Sitting from his vantage point in the cruiser, he can see the acid baths where Rey would spend hours scouring her parts for an extra eighth portion. The happabore watering hole she drank from when she was too weak to go back out and scavenge for the parts that would earn her another canteen. He sees the old women who would not let Rey sleep in their family tents when she was a child; the awning she would cower underneath like a dog during the cold hours of the night before she found a place to call her own. He looks at the dusty, pathetic little outpost and he feels every slight against them built into the clay and metal that keeps these hovels standing.

 _Home,_ he thinks. This worthless, unforgiving place is what Rey calls _home._

With reluctance, Kylo pushes himself from his seat, fingers hastily pulling back his too-long hair into a new knot as he ducks beneath the frame of the cruiser. The gangway to the cruiser lowers with a loud, clunking noise. He glares, as a wave of heat rises immediately into the metal box gratuitously called a ship. The air smells like sand and sweat and rust, several tired and sun-strained eyes train on his figure as he descends.

They don’t recognize him. Why would they? But the man nearest to the dock recognizes the cylinder hanging from his belt easily enough.

Kylo steps off _The Happabore,_ his eyes flickering to him. The man is around Kylo’s age, skin already leathery from too many days working in the hot sun. His eyes are bright, rheumy green in the ruddiness of his complexion, though the rest of him is obscured by a long, ankle-length beige cloak paired with a scarf that wraps around his mouth.

“You’ve still gotta pay-“ the man starts.

Kylo extends his hand—the man’s nose nearly brushes his palm. “Give me your cloak.”

Numbly, the man starts to shed his protective clothes. The rest of the Niima inhabitants smartly look away and continue along their business. The man hands it over, and Kylo takes it dispassionately.

“Your scarf.” His brows furrow. “And speeder.”

The man obviously hesitates when Kylo asks for his speeder, and so he presses further-

 

- _the man is stumbling out of the cantina, one arm slung over the shoulders of one of his friends. The sun is still high in the sky, barely past midday. He squints to see a figure across the outpost, clad in off-white and dragging a sled behind her._

_“That’s her, isn’t it?” His friend jeers. “That girl who turned you down last week?”_

_The man sneers. Through his memories, Kylo watches as the girl pushes up her goggles, revealing the face of a teenage Rey. “Thinks she doesn’t need the rest of us,” the man growls with barely disguised violence. “Why don’t we show her otherwise?”_

_His friend snorts._

_And Kylo can do nothing but watch as they corner her, the man grabbing her haul as his friend holds her back. He sees pure anger cross Rey’s young face as the man hoists her hard-won parts over his shoulder. He leans down, winks._

_“Let me know if you rethink dinner.”_

_Rey’s only answer is pressing her lips together in a thin line. Her stomach audibly rumbles as her fist clenches to her side. The man glares at her, disconcerted despite himself, before he nods at his friend and the pair of them make their way to Unkar’s with Rey’s parts. He’ll just have to keep taking her haul until she learns better-_

 

Kylo doesn’t even think as he rotates his wrist, the hand in front of the man’s face twisting down. The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head before he sinks to his knees, then collapses against the ground.

He takes a slow breath, looks around the people who are all blatantly preoccupied with other tasks.

“Who can give me his speeder?” He questions the crowd softly.

Hesitantly, a Rodian points past the happabores. Kylo’s barely repressed rage spikes when he sees a red, custom-built bike made from cargo haulers and swoops. He knows whose it is. He knows how important it was to her survival. _Stolen._

Jakku is full of carrion. People who saw her starving and cold and did nothing.

But he’s not here for them.

Kylo steps over the body of the man without care, wrapping the scarf around the lower half of his face as he does so.

 

\--

 

He bypasses the security blocks on the speeder’s controls with muscle memory. He powers up the engines as though he’s done it thousands of times. When the bike hums to life and kicks out into the sands, he retraces a journey he knows he was never meant to have.

 

\--

 

Aalto’s presence stains Rey’s home like a miasma. Kylo has barely powered down the speeder before he feels it—the tear in the Force that Aalto hosts, the thick and poisonous clouds that surround him. It has been years since Moraband, but Kylo remembers it clearly enough—remembers that Aalto was not this _weak_ the last time he saw him. Kylo had been surprised, in fact, to sense that the defect had somewhat healed between his escape from the Knights of Ren and his reappearance on the Sith world.

Whatever positive impact Rey’s training had on him, the coward was clearly back to his natural, more fitting state. Kylo’s hand drifts to the lightsaber by his side before he steps from the speeder. The sand is uneven beneath his feet, the sun blistering, but he ignores it as he approaches the hatch entrance of the AT-AT. Like in Rey’s vision, he climbs the ladder—Aalto’s presence becoming a stronger and stronger affront on his senses. The closer he gets, the clearer the noise—muttered cursing, low groans of pain, the frantic clatter of metal and the sound of something crashing against the floor.

Kylo’s heart drums in anticipation. There is some fear, there—of the unknown, of what Aalto is capable of—but it is washed out by the desire to run his lightsaber through the defect’s heart. To gain revenge for what happened over three years ago.

He throws up his hand, and tears away the door with a violent wave. The metal screeches before it’s launched against the furthest wall—Kylo barely has time to register a pale head ducking down moments before it connects.

With steady, sure steps, Kylo enters Rey’s home. The space is small, cramped, but there’s enough room for him to accomplish what he needs to here.

Aalto stands on the other side of the area, back still hunched from narrowly avoiding the door. His shoulders heave, but he does not turn to acknowledge him.  

“You are not supposed to be here,” he hisses at the wall he faces. It is the one scoured with her tally marks, her physical memorial to loneliness.

Kylo presses his lips together tightly. With a shrug, the cloak falls from his shoulders and flutters to the ground. His hand unhooks his lightsaber, and with an electric snap-hiss, purple light fills the room.

“This isn’t it,” Aalto whispers, head turning slightly to trace the expanse of the wall. “It isn’t you who kills me here!”

There’s a groan. Kylo’s eyes flicker with disinterest to its source. Poe sits, slumped against another wall, head tilted back and eyes closed. Kylo’s mind briefly goes to Kes, before he forcibly ignores the hostage.

“You’re overdue,” he says coldly to the defect, taking a step forward and raising his blade to Aalto’s back.

The seer pivots from the wall to face him. He looks just as he did in Rey’s vision, near-colorless eyes wide and manic. The pupils are blown wide as his lips part. “You’ve killed her.”

Kylo freezes.

Aalto continues, as if he’s not even there. “This isn’t _yours._ ” His eyes take in the steady, purple beam of Kylo’s lightsaber and for the first time, Kylo sees legitimate _fear_ cross the seer’s features. “You’ve put her on your path-“

“Shut up,” Kylo growls.

Aalto’s hands shake before they grab at clumps of his hair. “- _Where is my master?!_ ”

“You’ll never see her again.”

As if for the first time, Aalto seems to notice who it is in the room with him—or maybe he only realizes that he is in the _present_ with him. His stare slowly rolls to Kylo, before he snorts. The seer paces, hands still in his hair as he shakes his head. “I’ve seen her in a thousand lives, I’ll see her in a thousand more.” His eyes narrow. “ ** _You_** aren’t the one who matters! She finds other boys, other jungles! No matter where _you_ are, she is always the greater. My death _doesn’t belong to you._ ”

His grip tightens around the handle. “Then how am I here.”

The corner of Aalto’s mouth pulls, again and again. His lips press tightly together. “Wasn’t supposed to be you,” he murmurs. “Should have been Luke.”

Kylo frowns. “How.”

“Rey found two paths…” Aalto glares at him with pure hatred. “She went down the wrong one.” His throat works as he stares at the purple blade. “You don’t deserve this, don’t deserve what I set aside for Rey-“

Patience gone, Kylo draws his free arm across the air in front of him. Like a rag doll, Aalto is lifted from his feet and hurled into the nearby table. The small, ancient jar of withered flowers topples over and shatters. Aalto lays the flats of his palms against the table, coughing. Anger boils under Kylo’s skin, and he cuts his arm the opposite way—once again, Aalto is lifted by the Force, flung violently into the opposite wall. He collides back-first, sliding down to the ground in a heap.

Upper lip curling, Kylo advances.

Aalto looks up at him.  
And laughs. His teeth are bloody.

“My death isn’t yours,” he reminds him. A wheeze emits from his lips as he leans his head against the wall. “I have seen it on every path. You never stop what is to come.”

“What are you talking about,” Kylo seethes.

“I know,” his next breath comes in with a strain—Kylo suspects he’s crack a few ribs— “Your paths, Ben. Your _destiny._ And I know-“

Kylo raises his arm to swing down the lightsaber.

Aalto coughs, “-where it diverges from Rey’s.”

His hand stills.

Aalto smiles again with his red teeth. “She never should have gone into that cave.”

A cold washes over him.

The smile fades, replaced by a pained expression that is too close to grief. “We could have spared her.” His fingers rub his thumb, as if holding a string between them. “You wouldn’t let me help-“

“You don’t get to help _._ ” Kylo brings the edge of the lightsaber to Aalto’s throat. “You don’t get to do _anything_ with Rey-“

“Why?” Aalto asks, colorless eyes going wide and thin fingers reaching up to dig into Kylo’s collar. “Should her forgiveness end with _you_?”

He stills. Aalto’s knuckles go white.

“Do you remember the jungle, Ben?” He asks. His grip goes tighter. “Do you remember the village? The forest? The walkway?” He lets loose a bark of a laugh. “What have I done, that you haven’t done better?”

Kylo brings the blade closer to Aalto’s throat. There is the slight smell of burned skin, but the seer doesn’t flinch. “You trained her to be your replacement,” he says darkly, remembering the conversation with Janara and Soran. “You wanted to give her to Snoke in your place.”

“She goes to him on every path,” Aalto whispers. “For Luke. For you. For me.” The grip on his collar goes lax. “On most of them, you’re the one who delivers her. You are the worst of Ren. That is why he trains you and uses us.”  Kylo stares down at him. Aalto’s lips press into a pale line, and he looks up. “Even since you were a child, I have only seen death with you.”

“You’re about to see one more.” He doesn’t want to listen to anything else the defect has to say. Instead, he lifts his arm-

“Not by your hand,” Aalto says.

-and Kylo’s arm freezes in place.

The seer’s touch falls completely away from his robe. And it’s like a transformation—the manic stare fades, the corner of his lip stops twitching. Even his poisonous presence in the Force becomes more muted, subdued. The half-crazed expression of the seer is replaced by a cold, calculating stare.

“I’m not the one who will never see Rey again,” Aalto whispers.

Kylo begins to fight past the hold Aalto has on him, before the pale man presses his fingers to his temple.

 

\--

 

_He is in the jungle. Around him, there are screams—of fighters above him, of the animals around the praxeum, of the others here._

_Kylo knows this day. It’s the last day._

_His eyes dart from scene to scene as he tries and fails to move: the temple in the center of Yavin IV is engulfed in flames, TIE fighters above them firing on it still. The shortened, training blades of the younger students go out with quick flickers as their owners fall to the ground. The sun sets, bathing everything that remains here in orange – the dead, the attackers._

_His uncle._

_Kylo stares at Luke. Who only looks back, immobilized by a wound that will never heal as he sees his dream die and his nephew stand in the center of the ruin._

 

_\--_

_The memory changes._

_\--_

 

_“You killed us, beanpole.”_

_He is no longer Kylo, but Ben. There is an ignited, blue lightsaber in his hand and he watches as some of the younger students flee into the jungle. One of them, he knows, is Aalto. He’s the only one to survive the escape attempt. Too valuable, too_ unique, _to be sacrificed in the purge._

_Ben turns to face Soran. He is as he was on this day –eighteen, clad in his ever-sleeveless tunic and wielding his two lightsabers in the reverse grip. The blades are a shade between violet and blue, the hilts are stained with blood. He grins, the expression making him look feral._

_“It was your decision to turn,” Ben says flatly._

_Soran’s grin doesn’t leave his face. “I don’t remember it that way.”_

_“Then how do you remember it?”_

_Soran slowly looks away from Ben, facing the sunset. “That I did this because of love. That I would do it all again to keep her.”_

_Ben flinches._

_“That’s better, isn’t it?” The zabrak sends him one last look. “…Or is that the last thing you want to hear?”_

_He can’t answer._

_And as he did before, as he will do again, Soran runs into the jungle._

_Ben hears the echoes of screams, sees the birds fly out from the foliage as if they could escape what is inevitably going to come._

 

_\--_

 

_He ignites his own lightsaber, and chases after Soran’s ghost._

 

_\--_

 

_He ends up in a clearing, one he knows well. It’s one of the places his uncle always took him to practice his control—the pebbles he used to meditate are still tucked in the corner, small and white and his toes kick them out of arrangement._

_He does not recognize Janara at first. Not because she is young, but because she is_ whole. _Her arms and visible torso covered in the tattoos of her tribe. Her skin is a healthy olive color, her blonde hair braided back from a face with two green eyes._

_“I took her,” she whispers, “Because I wanted to hurt you.”_

_“You did,” Ben mutters._

_She nods. “We can’t be forgiven for everything.”_

_At her feet, Ava, the youngest of Luke’s students, lies dead. Janara’s arm has one, single crack down the length of it._

_“No one can.”_

_Ben stares at her for a moment, before he turns further into the jungle._

 

_\--_

 

_He remembers following Aalto. Drawing his lightsaber and pursing him through the jungle. The seer wasn’t as fast, wasn’t as good as Ben was. He remembers seeing him run, his small hand outstretching to pull back a low-hanging tree frond-_

_“Are you…Are you_ here? _”_

_“No,” comes a woman’s voice. “I don’t think so.”_

_“Which way are you going?”_

_“Forward, I suppose.”_

_“So I’ll see you later?”_

_“…yeah. In a bit.”_

_Ben remembers his heart pounding, his hand feeling cold._

_“I’m Aalto. Are you the Jedi girl?”_

_Ben remembers running back before he could ever hear her answer._

 

_\--_

 

_There is one more._

_She sits in what remains of the temple, knees drawn to her chest, sobs wracking her back. All the plants that grow inside the walls wither and die, all the other students who come close to her collapse. She cannot be killed. She cannot help others live. Her black hair, styled into thin braids, ends each strand with the beads of the old Order—green and white. Healing. Life._

_“I-I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m so sorry.”_

_Ben stills._

_The girl, the youngest of the ones who survive, looks up and her dark eyes meet his._

_“I’m what happens when you try.”_

_The walls collapse around them._

 

_\--_

 

_In the rubble, there is only an old man. The hood drawn tightly over his head. His shoulders slumped._

_“Tell me Ben,” he says quietly. “When is compassion no longer an option?”_

_He turns toward him. His mechanical hand braces against one of the crumbled walls._

_“What happens when you can’t forgive?”_

 

_\--_

 

_He drops to his knees. He wraps his hands around his stomach._

_“Hey,” he hears her. “What’s wrong?”_

_He can’t look at her. “Hurts.”_

_“What hurts?”_

_Ben doesn’t know how to tell her the truth. So instead he only reaches for her hand. She interlaces her fingers with his, a quiet connection with the touch._

_“Make it go away,” he begs. “_ Please. _Make it go away, Rey.”_

_She kneels before him. “I can’t.”_

_He flinches._

_Her other hand cups his cheek. “But I’ll stay with you until it ends.”_

 

 _\--_ __  
  
Ben, wake up!

\--

 

He tears out of Aalto’s mental hold. There’s the sound of air moving toward his face, and he has just enough time to draw his lightsaber up in a quick and vicious diagonal move. There’s a _shriek_ of pain, the smell of charred flesh, and Kylo steps away as soon as he hears something thump against the floor.

Aalto falls backward, one arm clutching a shoulder that has nothing beneath it. His opposite arm lies between them, holding a knife. Reacting quickly to the advantage, Kylo shoves him against the wall with the Force, watching as the seer’s back connects and he collapses in a pile on the cot, baring his teeth.

“You can’t-!” Aalto’s eyes widen in fear. “You can’t leave the flow-!”

“Shut up.” Hair falls into Kylo’s eyes, but he ignores it as he advances. He feels nothing but anger, cold and sharply honed, as he looks down at the pathetic man beneath him. His wrist rotates slowly, the purple blade flickering in a lazy circle. With a grim finality, he lifts his arm to finish Aalto—

The Walker trembles with enough violence to make Kylo stagger, the lightsaber disengaging and falling from his hand.

“Heh,” Aalto coughs out. His face has already lost whatever small amount of color it had. “I told you,” he croaks, “My death…doesn’t belong to you…”

A crushing weight fills the area. Kylo and Aalto both collapse, held tightly down to the floor by a Force they cannot see.

Kylo’s mouth goes dry. He knows who this is. Pathetically, his hand reaches for his lightsaber-  
-a polished, black boot toes it away.

“There are so few of us left,” comes a disappointed, female voice. It’s soft, almost gentle in light of the malevolent energy that surrounds her. “And you do this.”

Kylo rolls his eyes up.

The standing Master of Ren looks down at him. Dark eyes, brown skin, and curly hair with two beads hanging from a thin, solitary braid: green and white.

“Dolari-” he demands.

She closes her eyes with a much put-upon expression. “You’ll have to wait,” she says with just a hint of annoyance, “Until Aalto’s arm is repaired.”

Her pupils expand. And then he feels nothing but her hunger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Much like Janara is an expy of Darth Sion, Dolari is an expy of [Darth Nihilus](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Darth_Nihilus)
> 
> -Still haven't read Bloodlines! So this fic is an AU on that front
> 
> -Throwbacks to chapters 11 & 13 of The Death of Kylo Ren :B


	23. Rey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [whispers] i love you? :D? 
> 
> \---
> 
> sorry for the delay, folks. hopping back into this fic to give you the big finale for part 2 in the next couple of chapters (part three's still going to happen!). i've been wanting to write some of these scenes for a very, very long time (like, during the second half of TDoKR long) and i'm glad to finally get to them. those of you who opened this chapter up, thank you for still reading <3 hope you enjoy the rest of the ride. i'll be working through replying to comments on previous chapters soon!

_Two days later._

**\--**  
 **Rey.**  
\--

She shrugs her shoulders closer to her chest, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her. The air in the medcenter is stale and somehow cold despite the desert heat outside of it. Her fingers dig into the fabric.

“I failed,” Rey manages.

From his place on the bed, Luke’s sleeping face remains expressionless.

“…What was in that cave, it wasn’t just for him, was it?”

There isn’t an answer, but she remembers Luke’s words from so long ago. Dagobah was where choices were meant to be made. Kylo had made one to fight beside her. Rey had…

Decided not to believe in him.

And what a strange feeling that was. That she could love someone, and not trust. She had always figured the two went together, like they did with her and Luke. Leia. Finn. But, somehow, not with Kylo. Not fully.

She does not think she was wrong. In the cave, he made the decision to kill in grief. That couldn’t happen—not without him going to the Dark.

But she does think she failed. And that she _wants_ to have faith, even if she can’t.

Rey had woken up on her own in the cave, treated to a stony ride back to Tatooine in a transport courtesy of Finn. Who had let her know in no uncertain terms that Dagobah was _not_ the day trip she said she was going on when she was packing for Ben’s hut. And that losing an amnesiac Knight of Ren was _not_ a good move. Her best friend did not seem reassured when Rey told him Kylo was a former amnesiac Knight of Ren.

Worry clenches in the pit of her stomach. Finn and Kes had gone to Jakku—a journey that Rey could already sense would end in disappointment. But once she told Kes about seeing Poe, there was no deterring him, and no way to stop Finn from going with to search for a lead. She had wanted to go with, but Finn had seen the scars on her chest and demanded she sit it out. She had been too exhausted to do anything else.

Kylo, Poe, and Aalto are long gone from her old home. Rey can feel it in the Force, on the paths.

She closes her eyes. Casts out into the dark—not for the first time.

_Kylo?_

No answer. Rey steels herself, and then more tentatively:

_Ben?_

Nothing.

There is an alternative she can reach for, but the thought of calling to Aalto makes her sick to her stomach. There is some comfort, at the least, in that Rey has not felt anything through the bond. Not pain, not-

Rey clutches the blanket tighter. Not the _nothing_ she knows Kylo felt when she had gone into the Force.

She watches Luke, unable to do anything else. The past two days, while she has been ordered to medrest due to something as trivial as a formerly stopped heart, she’s tried to find him in the flow. But something is wrong-- snarls where there should be paths, fog where she should be able to see. There is the terrifying, horrible thought that wherever Luke _is,_ she is not meant to find him. Maybe no one is.

Her eyes sting.

Kylo is gone. Poe could be dead.

And she is _lost._

Rey leans forward, pressing her forehead to the back of Luke’s hand. It’s cold, far from the warm touch she remembers. He is not breathing, but not dead. Somewhere in between, and if Rey did not know what heartbreak is, she certainly does now. Whatever has him is stopping him from even becoming one with the Force—the last comfort a Jedi can expect to have.

Even in this room, she misses him. All the time. With Luke, with Kylo, with Finn and Leia, there is always grieving. There’s a part of her that’s going to be given away to something else—the flow, a cause. She’s the last of the Jedi, and she feels her future closing around her like pressing walls eager to suffocate.

Rey speaks into Luke’s palm, trying her best not to cry.

“Please. Just tell me what to do,” she whispers.

Her Master doesn’t answer.

But his sister does.

Leia’s entrance is a quiet but powerful thing. Rey senses her presence before she speaks, but her words still take her by surprise.

“Come on,” the General says softly. “Let’s take a walk.”

Rey scrubs at her eyes with the heel of her hand, but manages a nod.

\--

“There was nothing on Jakku, but that’s probably not a surprise to you.” Leia sounds as calm and together as always, but Rey can see the tension in the corners of her lips. “It’s not to me, either.”

Rey nods, slowing her usual gait slightly to match Leia’s. The suns of Tatooine are beginning to sink below the distant horizon, and Anchorhead’s constant motion is starting to slow. Her eyes take in the Resistance forces as they run final diagnostics on ships, check inventories, and fail to hide all of their yawns as the fading light gives way to fatigue.

Leia shows no such exhaustion, though she must be feeling it. She’s wearing her general’s fatigues instead of something more political, her hair braided in a simple crown around her head. Her fingers rest in the edges of her pockets as she asks her next, uncomfortable question. “Are you going to talk to anyone about what happened?”

Rey looks at the market. Sees the last of the vendors beginning to close their stalls. She inhales-

“Luke doesn’t count,” Leia interrupts.

Rey bites down on her lip. She doesn’t know where to start—so much has happened in such a short amount of time. Ben’s hut. Kylo’s memories. The fight against Janara and Soran. The cave. And now Kylo’s gone. Now, she feels the dark, inching closer and closer to her. Flooding.

So what can she even say, to a mother who must be constantly grieving her son?

“Ben will come back.” Rey’s head snaps to Leia’s face. The older woman gives a smile that is edged in pain, but it doesn’t waiver. “I know it.”

There’s such conviction in the statement. Rey absently holds the strap of her lightsaber’s holster, made from Poe’s old, ruined jacket.

“He’s gone after Aalto.”

“We knew where to find you because he told me,” Leia counters. “He’s gone to protect _you._ ”

There’s a long silence. While Rey has little doubt that Leia knows something about the nature of her and Kylo’s relationship, it wasn’t something that has been voiced. Or something Rey has had time to process.

“I wish he hadn’t,” Rey says softly.

Leia’s gaze softens. “I’m glad he did.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Rey finally manages.

“About Ben?”

 _Yes._ “About anything.”

“Start with a cup of caf,” Leia says easily. At Rey’s look, she shrugs. “Sage Jedi reasoning on fate and destiny has its time and place, but it’s not now. Now, we have work to do. So focus on that.”

Rey gives a slow nod. The General makes a hum of approval.

“If it makes you feel better,” Leia says with a hint of humor, “Luke didn’t know what he was doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“The whole Jedi thing. Kind of stumbled into it. In a way, I don’t think he ever stumbled out.”

The edges of Rey’s senses twinge, as thought something wasn’t quite right. She looks around, but notices nothing out of the ordinary. Gathering herself, she takes a long inhale. “Where should I start?”

Leia sends her a proud look. “Let’s get a mug of something, and head to the command center.”

Rey feels a tension in her shoulders uncoil.

Keep moving forward.

It’s what she’s best at.

\--

The day bleeds into the night, as Rey recounts all she can of the visions to Resistance intelligence, carefully tailoring anything involving Kylo. She is elbow-deep in statements when she feels the same twinge in her senses, the same sensation of something being off.

“What is that?” Leia asks, voice slightly raspy from fatigue. The General looks up from a datapad, screen-strained eyes narrowing.

Rey shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

But if Leia felt it too, it had to be _something._

Another twinge, this one slightly painful. Rey bent forward slightly, pinching the bridge of her nose-

And the command center began to shake. Mugs of caf topple over, datapads fall to the floor. Rey, Leia, and the rest of the personnel on staff pitch to the side, thrown off equilibrium.

“Explosion,” Rey whispers in horror.

Leia’s eyes widen, “I thought we got all of them in the sweep-“

But Rey’s already moving, grabbing her saberstaff and charging up the stairs that lead to the ground-level of Anchorhead. As soon as the door swings open, she feels lifeless at the scene before her:

The market is in flames, supplies and arms scorched with the dark carbon that indicates a bomb. Plasma fills the air—a detonator. She hears cries, but not sure if they’re of pain. She watches as the Resistance springs into action, members of the ground forces immediately responded to the crisis.

Frantic and feeling ill, Rey casts out her senses—

\--no one is hurt. Panic, fear, and anger. But no injury, no death. Her eyes snap open, and she jogs close to the scene. These were all the stalls that had closed earlier in the afternoon—

Her hand shakes. The noise of the square goes muted and distant.

Behind her, she hears Leia’s voice, distorted: “Rey?”

She exhales, trying to answer-

-but instead something pulls at her conscious. Her eyes roll back.

“Rey!”

She registers her body hitting the ground before her mind is thrown elsewhere.

\--

_“You need to leave now.”_

_She’s on a metal floor, the smell of plasma still clinging to her clothes and hair. Immediately, she pushes herself into a stand, pivoting on her heel to look behind her._

_“_ You! _”_

_Aalto sits on a bench, his body lightly swaying from what must be the descent of the ship they’re on. He looks as terrible as the day she pulled him from his hiding place on Nar Shaddaa—pale hair matted down with sweat, eyes bloodshot and teeth chattering. Her eyes dart to his side, where his shoulder abruptly ends in a pinched, black sleeve. He’s lost an arm since their last meeting. There is no doubt in her mind that it is because of Kylo._

_“Why did you-”_

_“We don’t have time.” Aalto’s voice hitches, as if he is drowning in something she can’t see. “Come to the jungle, Rey, or I blow the rest of the charges.”_

_Her eyes narrow. “We cleared the charges.”_

_“You cleared the charges I wanted you to find,” he corrects. He inhales, a struggled sound. He is clearly in pain._

_Her hands shake. “Where’s Kylo?”_

_Aalto’s lip curls. “He’s worthless, now.” A trickle of blood comes from Aalto’s nose. “It was supposed to be Luke, Rey. I_ told _you this.”_

_“So you could kill him instead?” She snaps._

_With a groan, Aalto pushes himself up into a seat with his arm. His veins are standing out on his neck and forehead. “He’s. Who you’ll need to be saved.”_

_Rey watches him critically. “What are you talking about?”_

_“I have-“ he doubles over, an invisible pain that reminds her of the vision right after she gave Kylo back his memories. How he had tried to reach her, hunched over and suffering. “-no reason to lie to you. I never have.”_

_“You’ve_ only _lied to me.”_

_“Rey,” he whispers. “Haven’t I saved the Resistance?”_

_“You’re joking.”_

_His voice goes distant, an echo from a conversation long since forgotten: “The bond is a product of the Force. Follow its meaning, see what it wants you to see, and it’ll be silent. Remember, Rey? Back when I called you Jedi girl.”_

_Rey then sees it as he remembers it: four years ago, the two of them sitting on the floor in her room on D’Qar. Him guiding her for the first time through a Force vision, protecting her from Kylo’s sight. By extension, protecting the Resistance from the First Order. Rey sees herself standing, running to warn Leia-_

_“Yes,” Aalto confirms._

_Rey shakes her head. “That was only so I would trust you. So you could…” her fist trembles. “So you could hurt Luke, later.”_

_Aalto’s head tilts back on the shuttle’s seat. She can tell his strength, his body, is being torn apart and fading fast. “Rey.” He sounds pained. “I never hurt Luke.”_

_She clenches her jaw. “Liar.”_

_His breathing grows shallow. “_ No _. I never hurt Luke, Rey.” He coughs, bending over once more in a spasm. “_ You _did.”_

_Her skin crawls. “What?”_

_“Come to the jungle, where it all started.” Aalto smiles, his teeth bloodstained. “And I’ll tell you-“ he grimaces. “I’ll tell you how it ends.”_

_“Why now?”_

_“Because you…” he fights past the pain to stare at her, and she is terrified to see that his gaze is brimming with tears. “Don’t have much time, Rey.” He closes his eyes, the tears fall quietly. “Neither do I.”_

_Fear finds its way into Rey’s mind, but she does her best to keep that darkness at bay. “What happened to Kylo?” She manages._

_Aalto looks stricken at the question. But the hurt shifts to anger, then disgust. “He’s the death of you,” he growls._

_Rey tries to breathe. “Is he alive?”_

_Eyes still closed, Aalto’s hand moves shakily to the side, and Rey watches as he grasps the helm sitting beside him. It’s one Rey knows well, one she has seen countless of times—Aalto’s thumb draws across the hollow divots that makes its eyes, before he lifts it to his face. The movement is difficult and unpracticed, but he manages to close the skull-like mask over his face._

_“I have a question for you, Rey.” His voice is deeper now, the aching breathing covered by metal._

_Rey feels a pull, her presence in the Force being gently directed away. She watches him with a hardened resolve, anger burning bright. Near predatory._

_Aalto’s last statement echoes in the vision:_

_“Why haven’t I returned to Snoke?”_

_\--_

Rey wakes up in a cold sweat, chest heaving and sand sticking to her cheek.

Leia kneels next to her, a hand on her shoulder. When Rey starts to push herself off the ground, Leia looks up with visible relief.

“No more of that shit,” she mutters, backing away slightly to give her some space. “What happened?”

Rey’s heart is pounding. _Aalto is a liar,_ she reminds herself. Her fingers dig into the fabric of her pants. _Aalto is a_ liar.

“Rey?”

She looks up. Leia’s warm, brown stare meets hers.

 _I never hurt Luke._ You _did._

Rey’s breathing comes in shallow.

“Rey.”

_Why haven’t I returned to Snoke?_

Her hand makes a fist. Rey’s body starts to levitate-

-Leia’s hand pushes her back down to the ground. “Calm down,” she says levelly. No room for argument.

Rey squeezes her eyes shut. “The bombs-“

“There’s more,” Leia observes flatly. “No casualties, thankfully. But we’re going to be low on supplies for a month.”

Her blood pulses in her ears. _Aalto’s a liar._ Rey swallows.

 _Kylo!_ She cries out, because now is a time she needs to be reassured that Aalto deserves death. She needs to be sure that he’s alright.

Nothing.

Frustration crests in her, and Rey punches down on the ground before she launches herself into a stand. Leia follows her movement with her eyes, wary.

“I know that look,” she says, and Rey doesn’t want to hear the sadness in it.

Rey bites down her lip in remorse. But she has to move, she has to do _something._ And the answers she’s wanted for three years are suddenly right in front of her.

“I need to take the _Falcon_ ,” she requests.

Leia’s shoulders lower, just a little. “You shouldn’t go,” she warns in her distant voice.

“It’s for Luke.” Rey has to look down. “And for Kylo.”

“And for you,” Leia rounds out, not wavering.

“Yes,” Rey breathes. “I have him, Leia. I know where he is.”

“I can send you with a team,” she offers, knowing it’s not going to be accepted.

Rey shakes her head. “No.” She pulls Leia into the tightest hug she can. “Not this time.”

Leia returns it. “Get back here before Finn charges after you.”

Swallowing, Rey nods into Leia’s shoulder.

The kindest, strongest woman Rey knows pulls away from her, and presses her lips to her forehead.

“And give him hell.”

“I will.”

\--

Rey runs back to her room, grabbing things as quickly as she can: Han’s old pistol, scattered items from her workbench, an extra change of clothes. She pauses only for the briefest of moments at the console by her bed, its ancient screen flickering on.

She has no idea what the future holds—doesn’t dare walk the flow to find out. So she spares a few precious moments to write out her goodbyes. Finn, Poe, Kes. Leia. Luke. Chewbacca, wherever he might be.

Chest hurting, she takes her time writing out a final message for Kylo, hoping that one day, he might be back to read it should anything happen.

Rey steadies her mind as best she can after she saves it to the terminal, trying not to feel anything but the moment. There is no pain, no suffering. There is no loss. Just the Force.

Her fingers wrap around the pendant hanging over her neck.

_Kylo, please answer._

There is just the black.

She closes her eyes, allows herself to feel grief for only a moment, before she heads for the _Falcon._

Rey punches in the navpoints as if they are engraved in her memories.

…she supposes they are, even if the memories weren’t originally her own.

\--

The top of the temple breaks the rich, jungle foliage of Yavin IV. Despite having never been here, Rey can see how it’s changed. She lands the _Falcon_ where she remembers Ben running out to see Han come back with supplies—a once pristine tarmac now overgrown with vines and moss. Her heart lurches, tears coming unwanted to her eyes as she remembers it all.

There’s the clearing where he and his uncle practiced levitation, now filled with rubble from a fallen temple pillar. The trail Janara and Soran would sneak away from, framing the stream where they would go to meditate. Rey sees the entrance to the auditorium, where Luke would lead them in the teachings of the Jedi. To the side, she knows, is the entrance that leads to Ben’s old room—where he attempted and failed to build his first lightsaber. Rey looks at the once-great temple and she feels the safety and shelter built into the stone that is still managing to stand.

 _Home,_ she thinks. This ruined, haunted place was once a _home._

The second her ship lands, Rey is not surprised to see a contingent of Stormtroopers exit from the entrance of the auditorium. She watches, guarded but calm, as about a dozen part and stand at attention. Waiting for someone.

A woman walks out.

She is not wearing a mask, but there’s no doubt in Rey’s mind that this is a Knight of Ren. She walks, back impossibly straight and chin tilted up, her hands folded behind her back. She wears black, more reminiscent of Jedi robes than the long, heavy cloth that Kylo used to favor. She stops at the edge of the tarmac, looking up and seeming to meet Rey’s stare perfectly through the viewport despite the distance.

Rey takes a breath, and depowers the _Falcon’s_ systems.

\--

Once her feet hit the ground, she’s immediately flanked by four Stormtroopers. They make quick work of taking her pistol, her lightsaber. Anxiety floods her the second they’re gone from her person, but Rey makes an effort to be serene. Calm. Everything a good Jedi should be despite the cold sweat forming on the inside of her palms.

One of the Stormtroopers pulls her arms back, restrainers in his hold that he goes to put around her wrists-

“That won’t be necessary.”

Rey’s eyes flicker up. The Knight of Ren looks far calmer than Rey feels, but her lips are pressed in a tight line. Rey feels _drawn_ to her, almost a physical pull. As if she were the storm, and this woman its eye.

“You’re Rey,” she says without judgment. One of the Stormtroopers hands her Rey’s lightsaber, which she absently takes without a look, fastening it to the utility belt around her waist. “I’m Dolari.”

She’s heard the name. Rey’s eyes go past the Knight of Ren into the shadowed entrance of the auditorium. She feels Aalto’s wound. He’s here, like he said he would be. “I think you know why I’ve come.”

“Yes.” There’s a long pause, and so Rey looks back at the woman. Her face is drawn, the pupils of her eyes large. There is a slight flex to her fingers. “You are…strong. In the Force.”

Not sure what else to do, Rey nods.

“He’s helped with that, you know.”

Not sure which _he_ the woman is referring too, Rey only gives her honest answer. “I made myself strong.”

Dolari watches her for a moment longer. “Aalto wants to see you,” she begins, but the words hang. “I will not let you kill him.”

“You don’t know what he’s done.”

“I know everything he’s done,” Dolari corrects. “The point stands.”

Rey frowns. There is more there than simple allegiance. It’s almost as if…They’re friends. Rey takes another look at Dolari, sees the white and green beads hanging from the end of one of her braids. And swallows.

“You grew up here,” she manages.

Dolari nods curtly, not hostile but firm. “Yes. I was a Jedi.” Her voice softens, just a little. “In many ways, Aalto is only a victim in this.”

Rey doesn’t stop her look of disbelief. And Dolari’s face goes carefully blank.

“Follow me. Any attempt on Aalto’s life, and the Stormtroopers will fire.” She turns, heading toward the temple. “And if they miss…”

“You’ll kill me?” Rey ventures.

There is no doubt or hesitation in Dolari’s response:

“Yes.”

\--

They walk, her, Dolari, and the twelve, silent Stormtroopers. The halls of the temple smell musty and unaired, stone and moss hitting her nose. It reminds her of Dantooine, in some ways. The endless halls, the feeling of ghosts clinging to every room like spiderwebs. She sees this place as Kylo used to—still vast and ancient, but the silence broken by the laughter of other students or the patient voice of Luke.

This is where Luke built his dream. And as Rey passes every room that she knows once belonged to someone—Soran, Janara, _Ben_ —she grieves it for him.

They stop in front of what Rey knows to be the meditation chamber. Aalto’s favorite place, as a child. Dolari presses her hand against the door’s lockpad, and it slides open in a long groan. The Knight of Ren steps forward, and Rey takes a breath before she follows her.

Immediately, she’s hit with the familiar miasma. The sour stink of sweat and illness.

Aalto sits in the center of the room, his back to them. The moment Rey’s feet pass the threshold, he visibly relaxes.

“I’ve missed you,” Aalto says quietly.

Rey doesn’t move. But her fingers itch for the lightsaber on Dolari’s belt.

“Better give that back to her, Dolari,” he says flatly. “She’s going to need it.”

“ _Aalto,_ ” Dolari reprimands around a short sigh.

“You know why she’s here,” Aalto says. There is a kindness in his voice that Rey has never heard before. Almost as if he’s trying to _comfort_ the woman with the heavy pull in the Force.

Dolari looks at Rey, then Aalto’s back. With a low breath, she unfastens Rey’s weapon from her belt and it extends its hilt to her. Rey snatches it back instantly, immediately feeling relieved with the worn hilt in her palm.

“The only reason I’m allowing this,” she says flatly, “Is because he asked it of me.”

Aalto folds his hands behind his back, the heavy outer robe he wears parting in large folds with the motion. “Goodbye, Dolari.”

She looks at him. Rey watches her, confused when the older woman has the slightest of quivers to her chin before she turns. In quick movements, she goes to stand beside Rey.

“I understand that he’s caused you pain. But don’t kill him,” she demands.

“I can’t promise that.”

Dolari grimaces. “Ah, yes. The Jedi Killer.”

She says Rey’s unfortunate nickname like it’s to remind herself, and Rey doesn’t know why she feels guilty at the disappointment in the Knight’s tone. With another step, Dolari strides forward. The Stormtroopers follow her out of the chamber, which seals with a puff of old air at Rey’s back.

They are alone.

Rey’s thumb hovers over the ignition on her lightsaber. She watches, sweat beading on her brow, as Aalto’s back rises and falls with more painful movements.

“You wanted me here,” she reminds him, after the silence goes on for a while longer.

His ragged inhale echoes in the meditation chamber, lit only by a single column of white light that escapes from a high window. Aalto turns, his face obscured by the skull mask, his large hood covering half of it.

He steps toward her, and Rey tenses. Any attack on her, any attempt to pull her into the flow, and she’ll end this without regret. He pitches forward, and Rey draws back her arm to strike-

-and Aalto collapses on his knees in front of her. The forehead of his helmet presses against her thigh, like a child’s. Rey freezes.

“I have been waiting for this for _so_ long, Rey.” His shoulders shake.

She has replayed this moment hundreds of times. Never once did it feel like this—she stares down at Aalto, his body failing him and his presence in the Force corroded beyond what even she thinks she can repair.

Pitiful, she thinks. Like he was on Dantooine, when she first removed his memories. When she thought that, maybe, he could be brought back to the Light. That he wanted to.

“No,” he mutters, “There is no path where that happens. But we are always more than we are.”

She remembers those words. Before she left for the caverns on Moraband, he had said them.

_He points up at the sky, his finger tracing what Rey assumes are constellations. “Jagomir. Nar Shaddaa. Onderon. Dantooine. Korriban,” his voice softens, “Takodana. Manaan. Naboo. Tatooine. Dagobah.” His hand drops. “Jakku. Yavin. You follow old steps, you leave trails for new ones.”_

Her hand trembles, and the arm she has raised slowly lowers. Her voice feels thick, the air not quite getting into her lungs right. She has his life in her hands right now, and they both know it. But she can’t bring her lightsaber down on his back and she doesn’t know why she can’t. He’s caused them all so much pain, is a direct threat to the Resistance.

Rey closes her eyes. She needs his answer, his one answer, before she can continue. “ _Why_?”

He breathes. “Let me show you.”

Pain fills her at the suggestion. Toxic and terrifying, the walls that have been closing in seem to slide into place. She does not fear the end, but she’s beginning to fear the dark. And Aalto would take her back into it. He would leave her there.

 _I didn’t hurt Luke._ You _did.  
Why haven’t I returned to Snoke?_

She should ignore him. Walk away and leave this place. But Luke’s words come back, soft and quiet and honest:

_What’s best isn’t always what’s brave._

The dark pulses in her blood, trying to find a hold in her fear, her anxiety. But Rey doesn’t give in to anything, and this is no exception.

“This is the last time,” she says, her whole body shaking. “That I’m going to listen to you, Aalto.”

He nods, pulling away. Rey watches, as he awkwardly fumbles with the clasp for his mask, pulling it away. He looks worse in person than in the vision, his near-colorless eyes looking almost yellow in the fading sunlight of Yavin. Without the mask to hide it, his breathing sounds shallow and near gone.

“I know,” he gasps. “I’m dying, Rey.”

She swallows. Tells herself that she doesn’t feel disappointed. “How?”

Aalto grimaces. She notices now that his hair is in clumps, as though he has been tugging at it. “Easier to tear apart, than to hold together.” He looks at her, and Rey watches him impassively. “You broke, I mended.”

“What do you mean?”

“The flow,” he inhales. “I’ve been moving it back to the correct path. Fixing every step you missed.”

“For what reason?”

His hand shakes. His pale, bitten-down lips are pressed tightly together. “I would do anything for my Master of Ren,” he exhales, bows his head again. “I would fall at your feet.”

The blood hammers in her ears.

“Rey,” he whispers, “I promised you that I would help you find the paths you needed. Do you remember?”

Vertigo hits her, and she hears the whispers. Of this place, of the dark. The sound of separate notes finding each other to finally form a chord.

 _This is where it ends,_ they tell her. _This is where we’ve brought you._

Unable to master the fear that builds in her, but deciding to face it anyway, Rey steps back.

Aalto’s face falls, an expression that could only be _heartbreak_ filling it-

-and Rey sits in front of him. She crosses her legs and rests the backs of her palms against her knees.

She closes her eyes. Steadies her breathing. Opens herself up to the Force, what it’s trying so hard to tell her. Her voice cuts across the emptiness of the meditation chamber.

“Show me.”

Aalto reaches across, his fever-hot hand lightly resting on hers.

And then, Rey is once again pulled into the flow.

\--

_He’s running for his life. Around him, he hears the screams of his classmates as they’re pursued in the jungle. The sounds are cut short by electric snaps, the smell of burned flesh._

_Aalto has seen this, in his dreams. The dark figures with skulls for faces, chasing them down. Killing them, one by one by one._

_He doesn’t know if he’s meant to make it. He’s too frail, too weak to fight. All he can do is flee, and he’s not even good at that._

_In his senses, he feels Ben. Kylo. Ben. He’s coming closer, and Aalto knows he’s already killed other students here. That he’s going to kill Aalto next and the boy is_ scared _because he has not yet learned how to fear death._

_Up ahead, a tree frond moves. Aalto knows he can’t fight off whatever is to come, so he tries to think of how he can hide-_

_A woman steps through. Her skin is freckled and kissed by the sun. She is in the Force, she_ is _the Force, and his small heart is about to burst._

_She’s a Jedi. But not like Luke is a Jedi. Different. He’s seen her before in his dreams, too. His eyes brim with tears. She is the one that saves them in the dark._

_“Are you…” His lip twitches to the side, his mind racing so fast his expressions can’t keep up with it. “Are you_ here? _”_

_The Jedi drops to one knee in front of him. Her eyes are bright and hazel, he tries to listen to her words but he can’t. He knows this moment is going to change his life._

_“No, I don’t think so.” She says._

_She’s in the flow. He’s not alone!_

_He can’t contain his excitement, his all-encompassing relief in knowing that the Jedi is_ like him. _“Which way are you going?”_

_She presses her lips together in thought. “Forward, I suppose.”_

_Meaning this is the past. Aalto is only a child, but he knows what this means—that a Jedi should appear on the day the Jedi are meant to be culled. They make it._ Aalto _makes it, because she is in the flow and he knows he is the only one who could teach her how._

_“So I’ll see you later?”_

_Her brows draw. “…yeah. In a bit.”_

_He brings his hand out, to touch her, to make sure she’s real. “I’m Aalto. Are you the Jedi girl?” The one he’s seen. The one that saves him, again and again._

_“Yes.” She lifts her hand. “I’m Rey.”_

Rey. _The name burns into him like a brand. It will stay with him forever._

_His fingers touch her own-  
-and she’s gone._

_Aalto doesn’t run. Instead, he sinks to his knees and waits for the ones in black to find him._

_He is going to survive.  
And one day, he is going to have a successor._

_-_

_They torture him._

_Over and over again. Every day. Snoke wants to find his limits, wants the precipice of the flow. There isn’t one—it doesn’t matter how often Aalto screams or begs or pleads, the Supreme Leader won’t accept that anything is limitless._

_So his days bleed into each other._ Time _bleeds. He no longer knows what is now, and what is past, and what is coming, and what might be, and what is impossible. It is all_ one, _a current that continues despite the splashes. Constant. Moving. He cannot direct the river—no one can, but he can follow it. He can shape its banks, find its ripples._

_Snoke tortures him. Breaks him. Does not mend._

_But Aalto remembers the girl in the jungle, and he lets a new poison enter his thoughts._

_Rey is a hope that he does not show Snoke, a secret that he keeps, tucked away in the darkest corners of his mind as time stretches and bends around it._

_He follows her. Aalto finds every path she has ever set foot on, and watches. They become anchors, footholds in the banks of the stream._

_She grows up alone. She fights every day. There are old, withered flowers on her table. She stares at the sky and wonders when she will ever stop feeling alone._

_\--_

_He watches her wield a lightsaber. Channel the Force. She finds Luke, and they train in the ocean that he can never go to._

_He loves her, he thinks._

_\--_

_It happens by accident. If he believed in such things._

_Snoke is in his thoughts, pushing him to find futures, possibilities. And he sees it in such a small flash that changes_ everything _for him:_

_Rey stands in the center of the throne room. The same one Aalto has been dragged to, tortured in. She stands above a body, clad in the black robes of Ren and with a purple lightsaber in her hand._

_Aalto breathes._

_The body is Snoke’s._

_And it’s gone just as quickly. Aalto does everything in his power to hide the image from Snoke, buries it so deep in the flow that it makes him ill to keep it tethered. But he does. He protects that image with everything he is._

_Because Rey can kill Snoke.  
Rey can break his chains._

_\--_

_When it’s safe, he finds the path again. He moves backward, sees everything that she must do to become strong enough to kill him. Aalto understands, as more lives and more paths are laid before him, what his role is:_

_He is her teacher. He shows her the flow, walks with her in its steps. He finds her the challenges she needs to become strong enough to face Snoke. Aalto gives her anger and conviction and_ power. _She finds her destiny_ because of him.

 _He teaches her how to heal the damage Snoke causes in his training, so when she must be given to the Ren she can withstand it.  
He hurts Kylo so she can learn how to hide memories, so when the time comes she can face Snoke without him knowing that she doesn’t _ need _him the same way the others do.  
He hands her the crystal for the lightsaber that will kill Snoke.  
He takes away the _ other _teacher that would stop her._  


_He brings the Knights to her, so she can best them and prove herself valuable to Snoke. Thudro-Shan, Mjurgo. Janara, Soran. They are all expendable losses on Rey’s path to victory._

_Finally, he makes her his replacement. Aalto makes her a flow-walker, gives her an ability that Snoke will want to keep by his side. Keep close._

_This ending, too, is one with an expendable loss._

_\--_

Outside of the flow, Rey’s hands shake.

\--

_Things go wrong._

_And it is because of_ him. _Ben. Kylo Ren._

 _He follows Rey’s path, and no matter where she goes there is a stop on Jagomir. There is a bond, always meant to form. He tries to find a way to stop it, but they find each other when they are enemies. They find each other when they are friends. Lovers. Aalto watches with building anger and desperation as Kylo forms the bond in the Force (and it’s his_ fault, _Kylo is too_ selfish _to let her go and Aalto_ hates him for it).

_He finds the missteps. Does what he can to correct them—but Rey does something he cannot fix._

_He sees them, in the old hut on Tatooine. Ben before her. He watches, powerless, as Rey brings_ Kylo _and not_ Luke _back from the dark. As she changes her destiny in a way he cannot stop or direct._

 _Aalto sees_ Rey’s _crystal in_ Kylo’s _lightsaber, and he does not know how this will end. He only knows that it doesn’t end_ right. _That Rey was meant to wield that weapon, to hold the light and the dark in her hand when she kills Snoke._

 _But Aalto tries. He tries to pull the flow, to change the impossible current. It makes his body weaker, his presence more poisoned. He kills himself slowly, as he attempts to_ fix _this. To break his chains, to achieve her greatness._

_He knows he cannot save her from the pain that will come. It’s the pain that he has set in motion for her. The pain he will die for, the pain the others have already died for._

_But now, he doesn’t know if her pain will mean victory-_

_\--_

She breaks aggressively from the flow, eyes snapping open. “You-“

Aalto’s eyes are once again full of tears. The corner of his lip twitches, and his thumb goes to her cheek, tracing the scar there. “I remember this scar,” he whispers in reverence. “This is from when you killed Thudro-Shan. Severed his head from his body-“

She recoils, squeezing her eyes shut.

“-I did that for you, Rey. I brought him to you, so you could learn that sometimes death is what’s needed.” He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, in the same way Kylo has done it before, and she thinks she’s going to be sick. “Then I brought you Mjurgo.” His hand drops to hover over her stomach. “To see you again, to let you meet Orin. To correct the course.”

The hand moves up, fingers hovering just above the starburst scar on her thigh. “Soran, to make you resilient.” Then he rests his hand in the air before her chest, tracing the forked patterns of the lightning scars Rey knows he has never seen. “Janara, to make you fearless.” He closes his eyes. “After everything, _you_ are finally here. The Rey in the vision. _My_ Rey.”

“This was all to kill _Snoke_?!” She yells, shoving away from him as quickly as she can. “All of it?”

Aalto stays kneeling. “No. It’s also for _you,_ Rey. Snoke will fall, you will rise.” His eyes widen. “ _I’ve seen it_.”

Anger, disgust, hatred. These are all things that Rey can feel thudding in her chest, clinging to her senses. But before all of those there is _worry._ “What did you do to Kylo?”

“He’s gone from the path-“

“ _Where is he_?!”

Before Rey can register what she’s doing, her hand is outstretched. Aalto’s body tenses, held in a near-stasis. She has a hold on his windpipe—a flex of her fingers and she can cut the air from his lungs. He has used her, caused her and the people she loves so much pain, and if he’s done anything to Kylo she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to silence the dark whispers that curl around her ears and throat. The ones that urge her to act on the impulse to press her hold just that much tighter.

Aalto watches her, accepting. The veins on his forehead and neck protrude, but otherwise he does not give any external sign of concern in the face of her anger or fear.

“Naboo,” he answers, far too calm. “But he is no longer in your destiny, Rey. The path between you was broken on Dagobah. It doesn’t reconnect.”

Her hand trembles. The hold she has on him is a fine edge, too much and she will give in to the temptation to kill him. Her heart races.

 _Naboo,_ she thinks. _Naboo is safe_. Rey reaches out through the bond.

…and feels a slight, weak brush against it. Her eyes sting.

 _Kylo?_ She calls.

It is too distant for words, but she feels him. A weak, flickering presence. Her arm strains.

“You can kill me,” Aalto soothes. “I won’t mind.”

That, more than anything, gets Rey to lower her arm. Aalto is shoved to the floor with the release of her grip, and his shoulders wrack. Frustrated, scared, and hurting, Rey pushes a hand back into her hair, trying to get a hold of herself, trying to see what it is she needs to do.

The chamber door slides open. The sheer force of Dolari’s presence, angry and determined, knocks Rey down to a knee. She gasps, straining to raise her head to stare at the woman.

“Leave us alone,” Aalto growls, picking himself up from the floor.

“No,” Dolari says coldly. There is no kindness or flexibility there, and Rey watches carefully.  “There’s a problem.”

Aalto sneers, ready to argue. But then his eyes go distant. His body sags, face growing pale.

“ _What_?” Rey demands.

“Slow him down?” Aalto requests of Dolari.

She stands there for a moment, before her fingers form fists at her side. “What are you planning on doing, Aalto?”

“I have a promise to fulfill.”

Dolari stares at Aalto, shakes her head in disgust. “This is the last time, Aalto.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

Without a word or look in Rey’s direction, the Knight leaves just as fast as she entered. Rey draws a deep breath as the hold on her vanishes, chest feeling lighter.

“We’re running out of time,” Aalto says frantically. “This needs to be done, _now._ ”

Rey moves, standing and drawing distance between them. “Stay away from me!”

“No, Rey.” He almost sounds sorrowful. “We need to go back to our first path.”

“What,” she growls as she reaches once more for her lightsaber. It ignites, one silver and one red blade glowing. “Makes you think I would _ever_ do that with you again?”

“Because I made a promise to you on Dantooine.” His hand reaches out, an offering in the space between them. “That I would help you find the paths you needed when the time came.”

 “I never want a path from you again.”

He does not move his hand. “It’s not a new path, Rey.”

“You think that makes _any_ difference to me?!”

“This one will.”

“Why?”

“Because this is the path that saves Luke Skywalker.”

Rey’s eyes go wide.

“He _will_ die if you don’t follow me,” Aalto says—an edge in his words.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“It will break the flow.”

“I don’t care about your flow.”

“But you care about Luke.” Aalto shoves the offered hand into his hair, tearing at it. “ _Now,_ Rey!”

She feels him grab at her presence in the Force, try to pull her in. Rey feels tears of frustration roll down her cheeks.

“You’re a monster,” she spits.

Aalto has no defense. And he brings Rey into the flow for a final time.

\--

The wind howls, blowing up curtains of rust. The air is hot, but dry—like Jakku. Rey steps forward, her boots instantly covered in dust. Her eyes narrow as she tries to understand where she’s fallen.

…She’s in a valley. It’s framed on the sides by half-crumbled statues that start on the ground and reach all the way to the sky. She’s seen this place before. Knows its name.

“Rey?”

She turns around.

Luke stands before her, clad all in his white travelling clothes. He’s staring at her in confusion. “What are you doing here?” He seems to take in her appearance. The two-toned color of her lightsaber. The confusion in his expression grows.

Her heart’s pounding in her chest. She looks past Luke, to the second figure. Aalto stands, watching her closely.

“Why are we back on Moraband?” She demands.

Her stomach flips when Aalto’s only response is a puzzled frown. When she notices that he has both his arms. That his body looks less sick.

“What is this?” She whispers.

Aalto’s voice crosses her thoughts, though the Aalto in front of her doesn’t speak.

_I brought you back, Rey. It’s my last gift to you._

“Brought me…” Rey’s heart hammers.

The memory of an old vision returns:

 _A flash of silver light, moving so fast that its trail forms a dangerous half-circle around the person who wields it._  
_An emerald beacon, raising and falling with the same control that the figure in white moves._  
 _And red, sputtering and consuming the air around it._  
 _The emerald light goes out. The distant figure in white falls to the ground-_

Warily, Luke ignites his lightsaber. Emerald green. Her own, silver and red.

Rey cries out in shock, barely managing to smother it with her free hand.

These are the moments before Luke’s death.

“Rey?” Her Master asks.

…and she was there for them.

 _I didn’t hurt Luke, Rey._ You _did.  
_


	24. Aalto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNINGS** this chapter for character death, implications of suicide, and a big ole angst train
> 
> \--
> 
> SO MANY THANK YOUS to:
> 
> [thefaultinourauthorss](http://thefaultinourauthorss.tumblr.com/post/163262576669/the-death-of-kylo-ren-a-reylo-playlist-listen) who made an AMAZING playlist for the series [here](http://gizkasparadise.tumblr.com/post/163270787197/thefaultinourauthorss-the-death-of-kylo-ren-a) (it was definitely on loop as i wrote this chapter)
> 
> and
> 
> [roguewn](https://roguewn.tumblr.com/), [who made this gorgeous edit](http://gizkasparadise.tumblr.com/post/163717786927/roguewn-tribute-for-the-fanfiction-the-death-of) of a TDoKR scene that, fittingly enough, shows up again in this chapter <3 
> 
> and of course, thank you to anyone still reading this and tolerating my long breaks toward the end of the fic. we're almost there!! happy birthday to me, here's a chapter for you :D

**\--** **  
** **Kylo** **  
** **Three days ago.  
** **\--** **  
**

It’s raining.

 

“ _No_ ,” he hears the voice of a woman. Somewhere close to him. Unhappy. “Turn your shuttle around and put it back.”

 

His chest is tight, like a light weight is pressing down on it and constricting. His connection to the Force heavy and painful. He can’t open his eyes, but slowly one of his fingers twitches against the other.

 

Whoever the woman is talking to remains silent, because she scoffs. “Let me guess, you felt bad.”

 

A long pause. Then, almost embarrassed: “There’s not many of us left.”

 

The words ignite his mind, give it clarity.

 

 _“There are so few of us left.”_ Dolari. One of the women is Dolari.

 

The muscles of his arm strain. His fingers curl into his palm--a loose fist.

 

“You always do this-” the woman who is not Dolari stops. “Stang, he’s waking up.”

 

A shuffle, the light puff of pressurized air.

 

“What are you doing-?”

 

“I’m sedating the _Knight of Ren_ in my _hobby farm,_ ” the unknown woman hisses.

 

He feels a pinch in his neck. His hand drops, motionless once more.

 

\--

 

_He is on the edge of a cliff, the grass vibrantly green against the grey of the sky and the blues of the ocean that surround them._

 

_Kylo doesn’t turn his head, but he glances at the hooded figure to his side, clad in robes of all medward white._

 

_“You made a good choice on Dagobah,” the old man says. “I’m proud of you for that.”_

 

 _Kylo doesn’t care about this man’s pride. His jaw clenches. “Why are_ you _here.”_

 

_His uncle turns, bright eyes red with unshed tears. “...you came to me.”_

 

_“That’s impossible.”_

 

_“But true.”_

 

_“What reason would I possibly have to find you in the Force?”_

 

_Luke says nothing, lips pressed so tight it makes the rest of his expression hollow. “Ben…”_

 

_“What?!” He snarls, even though that is no longer his name. Was maybe never his name._

 

_“One day I hope I can find an answer you’re looking for.”_

 

\--

 

His leg twitches.

 

“You’re angry.”

 

“Of course I’m angry, Dolari! _This_ is not Rey _._ ”

 

Dolari’s voice drops, becomes quiet. “Aalto said something went wrong.”

 

“No shit.”

 

“Orin…”

 

“And now you’re leaving me with him.” There’s a slight pout to the other woman’s tone.

 

“Aalto will need protection. You’re the only one I can trust.”

 

“With Kylo Ren.”

 

“I understand that this isn’t ideal.”

 

He tries to lift his eyelids.

 

A long sigh. The sound of a chair sliding back, followed by footsteps that get louder and louder. “It’s going to take the rest of my sedatives to keep him under--you realize that, right?”

 

“I appreciate you.”

 

A snort, but it sounds soft.

 

There’s a click, a puff, and a pinch.

 

He slides under.

 

\--

 

_It’s raining._

 

_Luke stands across from him. In his outstretched hand is a lightsaber, the hilt facing toward him._

 

_He doesn’t reach for it. He won’t take anything from him._

 

_“It’s her only chance.”_

 

_He stares at the handle, at its scuffed metal and the low, purple light that emits from the kyber crystal buried within it._

 

_“...take better care of it, this time.”_

 

\--

 

Something warm and coarse and _wet_ brushes against his palm. Kylo inhales, a dry and horrible sound, as he opens his eyes.

 

His body aches though the weight on his chest is gone, as is the drain on his connection to the Force. Kylo’s gaze centers, clears.

 

A miniature tauntaun watches him. He glares at it. The creature blinks, one eye at a time.

 

“Don’t,” he rasps in annoyance.

 

The creature slowly licks another kiss into his hand.

 

“Bleaghn.”

 

The thing’s call sets off a chain reaction, and a cacophony of miniature tauntaun bleets surround him. Six. There are six miniature tauntauns. He tries to make sense of his surroundings--the smell of hay is strong, the walls of the room wood paneled with inch gaps between them.

 

A...barn.

 

He tries to stand, only to find a pair of restrainer cuffs around his wrists and ankles. With little more than a thought, they snap under the pull of the Force, as useless in holding him as the stagnant air that fills the room.

 

One of the tauntauns bites into his sleeve, tears it. He shrugs away angrily.  It occurs to him that the pilot was with him. No sign of Poe is present in the barn.

 

He should be dead. Dolari was one of the few with enough power to kill him. So why didn’t she?

 

A door slides open.

 

“Fuck!” Comes a voice from its entrance.

 

He moves awkwardly into a crouch, his limbs still numb from whatever drug he’s been administered. His eyes land on the intruder. Auburn hair wrapped under a green scarf, freckles. A Mandalorian heavy blaster trained on his chest. He doesn’t recognize her.

 

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot you,” she states. The woman re-adjusts her grip on the blaster.“And don’t hurt the goats.”

 

He stands, adrenaline and anger making his tone sharp. “A blaster is useless against me.” Kylo’s memories of the encounter on Jakku press to the forefront of his mind. “Where’s Aalto.”

 

“Sit down or I’ll shoot.”

 

“I can kill you before you do.”

 

He senses that she knows how dangerous he is, but her grip doesn’t falter. “I don’t think you will.”

 

Kylo calls the Force to him, lets it fester and heat in the palm of his hand. The air smells of hay, tauntaun, and now, ozone. “That’s your mistake to make.”

 

The woman looks at him, then the low-lit purple glowing in his palm. She lets out a breath, the gap in her teeth making it more of a whistle. “Look, just. Put it down.”

 

“ _Move._ ”

 

“Put. It. Down.”

 

The Force lightning cackles, and Kylo lifts it up-

 

“I’m with Dolari.”

 

The statement is enough for him to hesitate. The electricity flickers back into his palm. He glares at the woman.

 

“You have thirty seconds,” he bites out.

 

“I’m your doctor,” she supplies. The Mandalorian blaster shifts a little higher--a headshot. “She brought you, Aalto, and that Resistance pilot here for medical attention.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Our farm outside of Theed. Dolari thought it’d be safer than our city apartment.”

 

_Naboo._

 

“We let the Resistance pilot go,” she offers. “In case you were worried about him.”

 

Dameron is insignificant. He only cares about finding one person. “Aalto?”

 

Her lips turn into a frown. “With Dolari.” She breathes, watching him.

 

Impatient, he presses against her mind with the Force, surprised to feel a slight resistance there. With a push, it breaks. “Where?”

 

The woman’s eyes unfocus, slightly dazed. Her arms go limp, dropping the blaster to her side. “Some jungle. Yavin.”

 

A chill works its way down his spine. “What for?”

 

The resistance is back, a little stronger. Trying to protect. Kylo pushes harder against it, and the information gives.

 

They’re there to meet Rey.

 

Anger, hot and poisonous, runs in his veins and before he cares to stop himself his arm stretches-

 

-and he sees more memories of the woman’s. A blanket, a mug of hot cocoa. Hours spent on sutures and bacta patches, late nights monitoring vitals.

 

She’d saved Rey’s life, once.

 

He drops his hand. Hesitates.

 

And a blaster round sinks into his foot. He flinches at the pain, concentration broken.

 

“Missed,” Orin pants, sweat beading on her brow and hand fighting to keep a grip on her blaster.

 

Realizing he’d underestimated her, Kylo draws his arm down quickly. She falls to the ground, unconscious.

 

\--

 

He carries Orin over his shoulder, using what he found in her memories to input the security codes to their small house beyond the barn. It slides open, and he unceremoniously drops her on one of the med beds. It’s not the one where Rey was held--it’s larger, neater. Less clinic and more home.

 

Orin gives a light groan, but otherwise does not move. He turns to the comm link, types in a number that is well-worn on the pad. The screen flickers, Dolari’s face coming into view.

 

“ _Orin-_ ” and _anger,_ genuine anger crosses her face when she sees who it is that’s answered the call. “ _Where is she_?”

 

“Asleep,” he states levelly. “And unharmed. For now.”

 

 _“I spare your life and this is how you act,”_ she scolds.

 

Kylo stares at her. Dolari’s rage is so potent that tears are starting to well in her eyes, something that makes him wary despite himself. She is the most reluctant Knight of Ren, but still a powerful one. And she’s already chosen to side with Aalto.

 

“ _There aren’t any sides in this!”_ She snaps.

 

“You’re wrong!” He braces his arms on the console. The darkness tugs at him, wanting him to do more--to retaliate. But when he looks at Orin he sees the doctor’s memories of Rey in the same position and it stills his rage long enough to avoid impulse.

 

Kylo lets go of a long breath. “I won’t spare anyone who hurts her.”

 

His eyes flicker up.

 

“Tell Aalto I’m on my way.”

 

With a pull of his mind, the console flares in a wave of sparks-- Dolari’s glare banished from view.

 

\--

 

He takes a small transport, and the coordinates are ones he enters with muscle memory.

 

On the edge of his senses, he feels her--a drop in the distance.

 

_Kylo?_

 

He closes his eyes, tries to stop his rising panic, and answers back through the bond like the lightest brush of fingers.

 

\--

 

He’s always hated Yavin.

 

Knowing Aalto is here, somehow alive, and that he’s here for Rey, does little to further endear it to him. His mind conjures up the memories from Aalto’s flow-walking--images of the slaughter of the temple superimposed over the skeletal remains of the tarmac and stones like a palimpsest. Like echoes.

 

In the middle of it, Dolari waits. As he descends the transport, he notices a contingent of stormtroopers--purposefully in sight. Beyond them, the _Falcon._  Kylo tries to find Rey in the Force. Her presence is clear, but distorted and warped.

 

He frowns when he figures it out.

Wherever she is, she’s also in the flow.

 

The transport stops, and he exits.

 

Dolari is fuming when she strides forward to meet him, fists clenched at her sides. “Where is Orin?”

 

“Where I left her.” His eyes narrow. “Get out of the way, Dolari.”

 

“You’re welcome to try and move me,” she says with a rare edge.

 

His eyes slide down to a glint of silver on Dolari’s belt. With a snarl, he extends his hand and _his_ lightsaber flies from it into his palm. He swings his wrist in a sharp circle and it ignites a rich purple.

 

Her eyes widen, caught off guard, but she draws down her arm in a diagonal slash and Kylo’s left leg buckles. She walks until she hovers over him, chin quivering and voice slightly hitched.

 

“If anything happens to Aalto, I take her to Snoke.”

 

Kylo strikes up crudely, and she backs off enough to avoid the swing of his lightsaber.

 

“I don’t want to,” she qualifies, biting down hard on her lip. “But it’s the only way to stop this!”

 

“Stop _what_?!”

 

“Our dying.” Dolari frowns. “Rey needs to be close to him. Don’t you understand?”

 

Kylo’s mind races back toward Dagobah. To Janara and Soran.

 

 _“Supreme Leader will want a replacement for his Seer.”_ _  
_ _“Aalto trained an apprentice.”_

 

He swings his lightsaber in a forward slash, one Dolari effortlessly dodges. She doesn’t draw her own weapon, but they both know she doesn’t need to.

 

Kylo summons lightning to his palm, strikes.

 

Dolari stands there calmly, the lightning hitting her chest and absorbing into it.

 

“Don’t make me hurt you,” she says quietly. When she meets his eyes he sees her pupils blown, the brown irises almost entirely covered by black.

 

Energy pulls toward her, fatigue rushing over him and making his arm pull toward the ground. His lightsaber flares against the stone floor of the temple’s training grounds, hissing as sparks fly up.

 

“We’re leaving,” Kylo spits. It’s clear who he means.

 

“No,” Dolari mutters. “You’re not.”

 

She moves forward and the pressure increases. Kylo sinks down to one of his knees, gritting his teeth. Futilely, he lifts up his arm about halfway from where he wants it, but still manages to Force shove her to the side. It’s a testament to his strength that she stumbles, but the crushing feeling of her ability doesn’t subside.

 

“I’m tired of the hunger,” she says sadly. “He keeps me hungry, Ben. He keeps Aalto in pain. The Jedi may be the only one who can save us, but we have to send her to Snoke to do it.”

 

He ignores her, fighting against her hold and sending another bolt of Force lightning. It absorbs effortlessly, feeding into the hunger that had awakened in Dolari after her Force abilities grew during her time as a padawan. The same powers that made her turn to Snoke and his promises of control.

 

Kylo grunts in frustration as he tries to break against the Force. Through the bond, he searches for Rey, but the strange distortion still blocks her presence.

 

“Rey’s arrival here is a test,” she continues. “If she passes, we send her to replace Aalto as Snoke’s flow walker.”

 

“And what happens to Aalto.”

 

Dolari’s gaze softens. “Everyone deserves a chance to heal, Ben. And he’s hurting more than most.”

 

He swings his lightsaber with renewed anger. It grazes her stomach, leaving a smoking trail across her black robes. Dolari’s face snaps to his.

 

Kylo’s upper lip curls. “I don’t care what either of you want.”

 

“He said you killed Janara,” her voice cuts. “Is that true?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _Why_?”

 

He’s done talking. Kylo pushes through, gritting his teeth in pain as he fights his severe disadvantage. Dolari’s powers make him slower, weaker. Even a simple swing brings aches into his body.

 

“If she fails, we’ll let her leave,” Dolari continues, willingly ignoring Kylo’s struggle against her power. “You both leave.”

 

Kylo already knows that whatever it is Aalto’s been preparing her for, it won’t end in Rey’s failure. And he also knows that Aalto would tell Dolari anything she wanted to hear. They had been that way since they were children. A lying younger sibling and his protective sister. Fools.

 

He let his fury build in him. For Aalto, for Snoke. For Dolari in this moment. For anything that might pose a threat to Rey. It builds, a crescendo of power moving like a fuse--inching closer and closer until he sees his opening. An opportunity to strike Dolari down. He takes it, arm flexing as the lightsaber swings overhead to land between her shoulder and neck-

 

“Stop!”

 

Both Dolari and Kylo turn at the voice.

 

Aalto steps out from the temple’s entrance, and hatred burns in Kylo when he sees Rey carried in the arms of a stormtrooper behind him. Her body limp. Kylo changes the momentum of his arm so his weapon is pointed at Aalto. A clear threat.

 

“Move, and she’s gone. I’m the only one who can anchor her in the current.” Aalto says weakly, and it’s with a bitter satisfaction that Kylo notices how ill the man looks.

 

Aalto lifts his remaining hand, and the stormtrooper behind him sets Rey gently on the ground. Above them, the sky is dark and thunder rolls.

 

“This is over soon,” Aalto observes. His gaze does not leave Kylo.

 

“I’ll send you back to Snoke myself,” he promises darkly.

 

Aalto cringes at the Supreme Leader’s name. And Kylo barely restrains himself from charging the distance when the seer’s eyes flicker to Rey.

 

“Keep him away from us,” Aalto calls out.

 

Stormtroopers flank either side of Kylo, but he doesn’t move. He merely stares across the training grounds, hatred radiating from him as his grip tightens on his lightsaber. He looks at Rey, at her vacant expression and still (so still) form. As though she is asleep. Or.

 

“Get ahold of yourself,” Dolari snaps to his side as she moves beside him. “Hurt him, and you lose her regardless.”

 

His grip on his lightsaber tightens further.

 

Aalto closes his eyes, and says the one command Kylo has never been able to master.

 

“ _Wait._ ” He kneels in front of Rey, then folds his legs until he is sitting in the meditation pose. “What comes next is not your decision…”

 

Rey doesn’t move, but Kylo feels her presence sharpening in the Force.

 

“...it’s hers.”

 

\--

**Rey.**

\--

 

Luke stands in front of her. The desert sun blinds her eyes and burns her skin. She looks at Aalto as he was, three years ago. He looks at her as if she’s expected.

 

“How is this possible?” She whispers, more shocked than anything. Terrified of her lightsaber and Luke’s, of what it means that she’s _here_ when she shouldn’t be.

 

Aalto-that-was folds his hands behind his back. He stares at her calmly, sadly. “You’re in the flow,” he states, stepping forward. He tilts his chin up, toward the caves she remembers falling into years ago. “You’re elsewhere while you’re here.” His eyes, she notices, are wet with tears. “I’m happy you could make it.”

 

“Rey?” Luke asks again, his face drawn and severe.

 

“ _Why_ -” She can’t meet Luke’s eyes, so instead she stares ahead at Aalto. “Why did you bring me here?!”

 

 _Because on one path, I kill him._ Aalto says in her mind, distant and distorted. _But I don’t need to. Don’t you see, Rey? You’ve already saved him._

 

“What do you mean?”

 

 _You put Luke in the flow. Hid him from me, like you did Kylo. Think about the_ dreams, _Rey._

 

Her hands shake as she sees the ocean again. The cliffs.

 

 _Yes. Where you felt safest in the universe. You made a place for him there, you_ created _a spot in the flow hidden from all of us for so long._

 

She steps back. “This isn’t possible.”

 

 _It is. Because it’s already happened. Because_ you _made it happen, right now. Three years ago._

 

Rey feels bile crawl up her throat as she thinks about Luke lying in the medward on Tatooine. His request for her to let him go in her dreams that were not just dreams. She wants to scream.

 

She...she did that to him. Eyes stinging, she turns to look at Luke.

 

His stern face falls away, compassion replacing it. He lowers his arm and the lightsaber disengages.

 

“Rey…” He looks at the new end of her lightsaber, its red blade. “What’s happened to you?”

 

The question destroys her. “I can’t,” she whispers.

 

Aalto-that-was looks up. A second later, a black, epsilon class shuttle punches into the atmosphere. Kylo. But not her Kylo, the Kylo from three years ago. The Kylo she knows would kill Luke with little hesitation.

 

Aalto-that-was nods. “You’re right. One of us will, if you don’t.”

 

“You don’t have to do this!” She protests, rotating her grip so a blade is pointed at Aalto-that-was’s throat.

 

“I do. I showed you before, Rey. He will stop you from becoming what you are now. He will stop you from becoming strong enough to kill Snoke. I can’t let that happen, no matter how much pain it causes.”

 

She readjusts her grip. “I won’t let either of you-!”

 

Aalto-that-was shakes his head, looking at the distance, where the caves rest. “You can’t stay here that long, Rey. The second you return from the caves, you have to go back to the jungle.”

 

Her breath comes in quickly. Spots dance across her vision. She grits her teeth and holds her lightsaber tighter.

 

“Don’t worry,” Aalto-that-was says gently. He looks as though he wants to move toward her, but stops himself. “Every time you return in victory.” He smiles as though his heart is breaking and she hates him for it. “I’ve never lied about that.”

 

“I’ll kill you if you make me do this." She hates how much her threat sounds like begging.

 

“This time,” he agrees--an echo of a conversation they had a long, long time ago.

 

Luke’s hand rests on her shoulder. She turns, eyes red-rimmed and looks up at the closest thing she’s ever had to a father.

 

He looks at her. At her scars. At her hair. Her changed clothes, her different lightsaber. Rey can’t help but wonder if he’s ashamed at what he sees, if he somehow knows what she’s done to become the person before him instead of the one that left him that morning.

 

Luke clears his throat, and she sees no judgment in his stare. Only worry. It feels worse.

 

“Space-time continuum, huh?” He manages, and Rey remembers their conversation in the _Falcon_ the night before she left for the caves. When he told her what was best wasn’t always what was brave.

 

She cries, only able to nod.

 

He smiles in sympathy, his hand giving her a reassuring squeeze. “That’s a big one,” he echoes.

 

The epsilon shuttle flies lower into atmo.

 

“There isn’t much time,” Aalto-that-was observes. “Choose the original path, or make your new one.”

 

She ignores him, unable to look away from Luke or let him go or save his life because of its cost. Shakily, she disengages her lightsaber.

 

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “What do you need to do?”

 

She squeezes her eyes closed, blinking hard. She needs to stop his life for now, so she can save it later. But the words won’t come.

 

As always, he seems to understand anyway. “I trust you.”

 

“Wherever I go,” she manages after a few moments. “I’m going to come back and I’ll protect you.”

 

He nods. “And then we take a trip to Nar Shaddaa.”

 

Rey’s vision blurs further. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Rey.” He exhales. “And thank you.”

 

Rey grimaces, her heart breaking apart.

 

And then she thinks of an ocean.

 

\--

 

Luke’s gaze goes vacant. He falls to the ground, in the exact space, in the exact way, that Rey found his body three years ago.

 

She drops to her knees in front of him, and a cry of rage tears out from her lungs just as a girl climbs out of a cave.

 

\--

 

Rey doesn’t think about it. The movement is seamless, almost muscle memory. She moves to a kneel, twists her wrist, pushes down with her thumb. The weapon in her hand ignites. It’s that easy.

 

There is the smell of burned cloth, then burned skin, and Aalto sags down against her with a small exhale. His forehead rests on her shoulder, his hand lifts weakly to the space between her shoulders. The desert is once against a jungle.

 

“I love you Rey,” he whispers against her neck.

 

A silver blade protrudes from his back. Her hands shake.

 

She sobs, as the anger bleeds away and the reality of what she’s done hits her. Trembling, she tries to push him away from her lightsaber, but he moves first. His hand drops from her back to rest over hers on the hilt, holding them together in place. His breaths are staggered, weak. Only inhales. Aalto smiles with bloodstained teeth and flexes his fingers against hers.

 

“I love you more than anyone in the entire universe.”

 

Because she doesn’t know what else to do, her thumb shakes and slides the ignition off. As if that would stop what she’s already done, reverse what she can’t give back. Undo what she has done--to Luke, to Aalto.

 

He closes his colorless eyes as the blade disengages. Sways. And then he falls to the side, his hand trailing over hers as the grip falters and he lands soundlessly against the ground.

 

Rey sobs harder, his phantom touch lingering on the hand she brings to cover her mouth. The hilt of her lightsaber drops to the stones of the temple floor, and a wire-thin curl of smoke emits from the silver end of it.

 

“ **_NO_ **!”

 

She turns at the voice that belongs to someone who can’t possibly be here, be real, but she turns and there is Kylo running toward the temple. She doesn’t have time to question his presence before something twists on the edge of her senses--a slow ripple before a larger wave.

 

“ **_REY, RUN!”_ **

 

She doesn’t understand the command. And her hesitation is her undoing, because she watches Kylo approach--his face contorted in screaming warnings that her mind can’t comprehend. She doesn’t hear him. Everything is muted and syrupy.

 

And then she feels _her._ Rage and pain wash with a heavy, impossible Force. Rey is flattened to the ground, the breath gone from her lungs and body immobile. She has just a moment to tilt her head up and see Kylo fall as well, about two feet away. The pain is heavy and unbearable, but she watches as he tears himself up from the ground to crawl toward her. Barely an inch at a time. She does her best to reach for him as well, unsure of what is happening and afraid.

 

Kylo can’t form words in the bond, but she understands as the memories between them are shared. _Dolari._ This was Dolari’s doing.

 

Rey bites the inside of her cheek. The Force surrounding her is crushing. And Dolari will kill her for killing Aalto. She senses Kylo’s fear, sharper and angrier than her own, and knows that Dolari will likely succeed.

 

They can barely move. Rain pelts the back of her, soaking her robes and hair and puddling uncomfortably under her body. It’s not unlike Jagomir, she thinks. Not unlike the last time they said goodbye like this--without knowing whether the other would survive.

 

Rey’s eyes fill with tears. Pressed down to the ground, with what feels like the weight of the universe on her back, she reaches out for him.

 

He reaches back.

 

 _I love you,_ she thinks, _Thank you for finding me_. His expression is fixed into a grimace, but she feels him lash out violently in response through their bond.

 

 _Don’t!_ He screams, a splitting pain echoing in every nerve.

 

Their combined strength is only enough for a brush of the fingers. His thumb against the length of her pinkie. Calloused and warm. The smallest moment that breaks an unforgiving galaxy holding them apart.

 

She has to ask one last thing of him. Knowing he will hate her for it later.

 

_You have to save Luke!_

 

He doesn’t seem to acknowledge the request, so she tries again.

 

_Please, you’re the only one who can-!_

 

Rey’s mind falters when she hears the footfalls of the stormtroopers arriving behind her. Then their hands are grabbing her underneath her arms. They haul her paralyzed body up and drag her away. His touch falls from hers. The toes of her boots connect with the pebbles of the jungle floor and slide against them.

 

 **_Don’t go!_ ** And she feels Kylo break behind her. The same way he did on Dagobah, although this feels worse and more inescapable than the fate that found her there.

 

And Rey can only look ahead because she can’t look anywhere else. A prisoner transport waits for her, Dolari an increasingly closer figure on the horizon. The transport can only be taking her to be executed. Or worse, to Snoke.

 

 _I’m scared,_ she admits as her frozen gaze takes in the black shine of its paneling. Of the door sliding up to allow her entrance.

 

**_REY_ **

 

The stormtroopers halt in front of the only remaining Knight of Ren. Dolari stares at Rey with barely restrained pain and betrayal, and with a frown she clenches her fist.

 

Pain ricochets in her head like fireworks--a brief, blinding severance of consciousness. The last words she hears are ones she’s been waiting for most of her life, an echo of the ones she just promised to Luke:

 

_I’m coming back for you!_

 

Then it’s only the dark. And maybe it’s the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all of rey's parts in this chapter are call backs to chapter 13 in TDoKR :o)
> 
> Dolari is a riff on [Darth Nihilus](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Darth_Nihilus) from KOTOR!


	25. Luke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short epilogue to follow <3

**\---**   
**Kylo** **  
** **\---**

 

The prison transport lifts from the planet’s surface. He screams, a primal thing of unrestrained fury as he slams his fist against the stone he’s held against.

 

The Force erupts around it in a shockwave, tearing trees and old docking gear, demolishing stones of the ancient temple, ripping apart his transport, and crushing the few remaining stormtroopers. It destroys, ruins, and kills until there’s only Kylo prostrate on the ground. Until he’s alone, powerless to do anything but watch engine lights become pinpricks in the sky.

 

Kylo collapses against the ground and doesn’t move in the quiet that remains.

 

\--

 

What feels like hours later, a pair of battered flight boots come into his line of sight. He doesn’t bother to look up. He knows who he is, knows he doesn’t matter to him.

 

Poe Dameron looks down on the crumpled figure before him, his brows and split lip set in a frown. 

 

“C’mon,” he manages, toeing Kylo’s side with his boot. “Our intel says it should be wearing off. Get up.”

 

Kylo shoves himself into a seat, the movement calling attention to his sore muscles and a possible fracture in his arm. His fist, the one he slammed into the ground, is already starting to yellow and purple.

 

“What,” he states lifelessly, “do you want.”

 

Still frowning, Poe puts his hands into his pockets. One still has a bacta patch over it. “I’m your ride.”

 

He snorts, head tilted back. “Or I kill you and take your ship.”

 

Poe’s expression remains stone faced as he calls his bluff. “Then what?”

 

Kylo looks at the pilot, the ruins around him. The bodies of the stormtroopers, still and unmoving. Aalto’s corpse, face down on the temple floor where Kylo fully intends to leave it.

 

His eyes go to the ground. The spot where she fell, the space he failed to reach. 

 

A glint of silver catches his eye.

 

Kylo reaches out his hand, fingers brushing against a well-worn and carbon-scored hilt.

 

He rotates his wrist, until the saberstaff rests across both of his palms. Poe watches him, wary, as Kylo ghosts his thumb over the switch. 

 

_ What do you want?  _ He had asked her.

_ I want...us to be able to go home. _

 

He grimaces, looking away from the weapon in his hand. The one that doesn’t belong to him, that weighs heavy in his hold.

 

Kylo doesn’t say anything, but his head hangs and his shoulders start to shake.

 

Poe clears his throat. “I’ll wait for you in the transport.”

 

The pilot walks away. 

 

In his kneel, Kylo hunches forward. Folding his hands over the back of his head.

 

\--

 

It’s not until they’re in atmo that Kylo swallows, dark eyes landing on the back of Dameron’s head.

 

“Where?”

 

Poe runs his hands over the controls, flipping a few toggles that will plug in the coordinates to their next destination. Kylo watches the movements, and already knows the destination before he says it.

 

“Takodana. General’s orders.”

 

He sits.  _ General’s orders. _

 

“She sent you here,” he solves, voice horribly flat.

 

In the duraglass of the transport’s viewport, he sees Poe’s brows raise. “After I woke up, I was happy to leave you to the goats.” He reroutes power to the transport’s hyperdrive. “But when Leia Organa asks you to tail her son, you tail her son.”

 

The words sound like something Kes would say. 

 

The transport lifts a little further into the sky.

 

“...that body was Aalto Ren’s,” Poe observes levelly.

 

Kylo’s fingers strain as he clenches them. “Yes.”

 

The sky around them begins to warp, the streaks of light indicating an entry into hyperspace surrounding them.

 

“Okay,” Poe says, carefully neutral. 

 

The transport lurches.

 

And they’re gone.

 

\--

 

There’s a crowd waiting for them. Kylo doesn’t look at them, but he feels their grating, familiar presence in the Force. Kes. Finn. Maz. His mother.

 

Poe expertly lands the plane, and without a word or look back to Kylo, he swings out of the cockpit. Almost immediately, his father grabs him and presses him close. Kylo hears a dry sob of relief from the old man, but he doesn’t care. He is numb. Cold. 

 

He clutches tightly to Rey’s lightsaber. Exhales. Then climbs out of the cockpit. 

 

His mother watches him, Maz at her side. Neither woman says anything, but from their expressions Kylo knows they are no longer seeing Ben Kanata in front of them.

 

He meets the General’s gaze. Leia’s eyes are beautiful, sad. His own, he suspects, are hollow and red-rimmed.

 

“Where’s Rey?” Finn asks from somewhere to his side, as he pulls back from embracing Poe to look at the transport.

 

Kylo does not look away from his mother’s stare.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, looking like she means it.

 

“Ben? Where is she?” Finn’s voice takes an edge.

 

The disgust at  _ that name  _ is enough to make Kylo stride forward. He doesn’t pause as he shoulders past his mother, Leia’s hand making to reach for him but stilling before it can brush his arm.

 

“Hey!” Finn calls out behind him.

 

“Let him go,” Leia states.

 

Fingers gripping Rey’s lightsaber hard enough for the metal to cut his skin, Kylo leaves the bay and its occupants behind him.

 

\--

 

He finds himself in Ben Kanata’s old room. Nothing has been added, the old bed tucked into the corner, the workbench pressed flush against the wall, and an out of date console.

 

The door slides close behind him. 

 

Kylo stands in the middle of this empty, meaningless space and feels a tremor crawl up his arm. 

 

_...Rey?  _

 

There is no response. 

 

He tries to find her in the bond, but she’s either unconscious or hidden from him.

 

The tremor becomes a shake. Her thoughts ring in his skull.  _ Thank you for finding me. _

 

Before he knows what he’s doing, Kylo’s lightsaber is ignited in his hand. He brings it down on the bed, the console, the workbench, the walls. He screams as he slashes over and over again with increased violence--as if the purple light and burning metal can take his largest failure away from him. 

 

\--

 

At some point he must collapse, because when he wakes there is a blanket over him, his ruined hand has a bacta patch on it, and Rey is laying on the floor beside him.

 

His body goes numb as he stares.

 

She’s sleeping, her hair falling out of its half-knot and grime and blood on her face. Her clothes are dirtied with mud, blood, and sweat and her lip has a split down the side of it. She lays on her side, one of her arms across her stomach, the other out as if reaching for something. His heart slams against his ribs. 

 

“Rey-!”

 

She doesn’t respond. And after a moment, she’s gone entirely.

 

\--

 

No one disturbs him in the cell he’s made for himself. 

 

Except for Maz, who has never given a damn for any line that’s been drawn. She walks in, breathes on her goggles, and uses his shirt to wipe them. 

 

“The girl is out of our reach for now,” she says, inspecting her goggles before placing them back on her head. “But you know who isn’t. Or else you wouldn’t be here.” She tilts her head up and points a finger at him. “Start fixing the mess you made, or get off my planet!”

 

Before he can snarl at her, she takes a step back, pulls a candy bar from her pocket, places it on the largest remaining shred of mattress, and walks out as quickly as she came in.

 

\--

 

He glares at it, knees drawn to his chest and his forearms resting on the tops of them. Its presence burns a hole in the room.

 

\--

 

The next morning, a datapad rests on the ground outside his door.

 

He ignores it at first. But something about it is familiar, something about it  _ pulls.  _

 

His fingers graze it. The screen flickers to life.

 

_ We found these encoded in her room on Tatooine. This one was addressed to you. _

 

He knows who gave this to him. He tries to tell himself it doesn’t matter. 

 

Kylo presses the screen, and reads the last message Rey left behind. When he’s done he closes his eyes, rests his head against the wall, and doesn’t move for a long time.

 

\--

 

Hours and new, smoking scores in the wall later, Kylo emerges from the room. With heavy, angry steps he walks forward through the halls, fists clenched at his sides. He ignores the stares from Resistance personnel and Takodana pirates alike, as they all watch him with shock and wariness.  It seems the castle is aware that Ben Kanata is dead. 

 

He finds his mother in what stands for a war room with this pathetic Resistance. Her hands braced on the console in front of her in a posture he often unconsciously mimics. 

 

She turns, and if she’s surprised to see him standing there she doesn’t show it. Mother and son meet eyes, an intense stare down between them to see which one will speak first.

 

Leia Organa always wins.

 

“Did you read it?” Kylo mutters.

 

“Yes,” she replies without guilt.

 

Silence rests between them, ugly and twisted and there is a horrible,  _ weak  _ part of him that wants her to reach for him again.

 

She steps forward, and he snaps his head away. His jaw clenches and she winces.

 

He breathes in, hatred a roiling force under his skin but second to another emotion that has already shaken him at the core. His nostrils flare and he makes himself swallow past the resistance he has to the next words he is about to say. 

 

“Take me to him, then.”

 

His mother watches him, her face looking drawn and grey, but she nods all the same.

 

\--

 

He follows her down a set of stone stairs he has never seen before, the air wet and musty the further they descend. At the base of the stairwell is Maz, looking at him as if she approves.

 

“Come on, then,” she says expectantly, turning around and waving her hand over her shoulder for them to follow.

 

His mother keeps pace with him, her hands folded into the sleeves of her robe as if that would be enough to stop her from trying to hold him again.

 

“This doesn’t change anything,” he bites out, if only to stop the quiet.

 

She sends him a quick look that sees too much. “We’ll help you find Rey,” is all she offers in return, neither a confirmation or denial. “We want her safe.”  _ Just like you. _

 

He doesn’t like his mother talking about her. As if she understands. As if her understanding makes a difference. He closes his eyes and behind them he sees Rey being dragged into that prison shuttle, her lying beaten on the floor next to him. Anger surges in him and the walls shake, just a little. Dust streams down from a few, old bricks.

 

“Don’t you dare!” Maz snaps without turning around. 

 

He exhales, lips pressed together tightly.

 

The small woman steps in front of a door. He knows what’s behind it. A tension lies between him and his mother, the older woman sending him an assessing look.

 

Kylo stares at the door, at the thin, white light that escapes underneath. 

 

“Well?” Maz states, already turning around. “In you go.”

 

His teeth grind. Maz’s footsteps turn into softer echoes.

 

After a moment, Leia takes a step back as well.

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

“This isn’t for him,” he snarls.

 

“Still.” His mother’s shoulders slump, a rare tell of exhaustion. “I’ll wait for you upstairs, if that’s easier.”

 

“Where you are doesn’t matter,” he lies.

 

Leia can still understand him too quickly, because instead of leaving she goes to stand to the side of the threshold. 

 

“I’ll stay, then.”

 

His eyes burn. Before she can say anything else to him, or he can regret this decision further, Kylo slams his fist against the door panel.

 

It slides open, the light bright in the darkness of what might have once been a crypt.

 

\---

His uncle lies motionless on the bed before him.

 

Kylo takes a step forward. Another. His jaw aches, as do his fingers. Tension winds and curls around every part of his body as he does his best to avoid reaching for his lightsaber.

 

Luke’s profile is older than he remembers it. Grey beard and brows, deep lines etched into his skin from frowning. To any reasonable eye, he already looks dead, and part of Kylo is relieved at the idea of it.

 

_ This is where we’ve brought you,  _ he hears, whispered across his mind without words.

 

Kylo’s pulse quickens, its force felt in his neck. He stands over the old man for far too long, fingers gripping the edge of his bed and pressing down hard.

 

“This isn’t for you,” he repeats behind bared teeth.

 

Luke gives no indication he can hear him.

 

Kylo scowls, folding his legs underneath him as he enters a meditative pose on the floor.

 

\--

 

_ He sees her.  _

 

_ Rey is curled in on herself in what looks like a cell, the walls chromatic and seamless. No windows, no doors.  _

 

_ At his presence, she lifts her head. There’s a new cut under her eye and he will kill someone for it. _

 

_ “Where are you?” He asks, desperate.  _

 

_ She smiles weakly before slowly shaking her head, clearly pained and exhausted. “I don’t know.” _

 

_ His chest heaves, even though there is no need to breathe in this space. “Tell me how to find you.” _

 

_ Rey’s head slumps against the wall.  _

_ He feels as though he’s dying.  _

 

_ “You got my message?” She asks. _

 

_ “Yes,” he bites out. _

 

_ “I didn’t know how to do it, when I wrote it.” Her eyes are red, and she pushes herself into a kneel with obvious effort. “But I do now.”  _

 

_ Immediately he goes to her side, his hand resting on her arm.  _

 

_ “I don’t want to do this,” he admits, cowardly.  _

 

_ She nods, tears filling her eyes. “I know, I’m sorry.” _

 

_ He rests his forehead against hers, hands gripping her shoulders too tightly. She is the only bright thing that matters to him in the dark, and she is fading. _

 

_ “Aalto said I’d win,” she manages, but to both of them it sounds like she doesn’t believe it. _

 

_ “Aalto is dead,” he snaps. _

 

_ “Only because he wanted to be.” Rey sniffles, pushing away from him enough to bring the back of her hand across her eyes. “I don’t have a lot of strength left,” she manages. _

 

_ He stares at her, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. His voice strains on her name. “Rey-”  _

 

_ In a slow, crawling sort of motion she extends a hand to him. _

 

_ “It’s just another step,” she whispers, brokenly, as she holds his fingers in her own and wherever she is falls away from them both. _

 

_ \-- _

 

_ He is back on the edge of the cliff. Knowing what it means, he sinks to his knees and screams--hands behind his head as he bows over in grief. _

 

_ Behind him, a hooded figure watches silently. _

 

_ \-- _

 

_ When Kylo has enough control again, he turns. _

 

_ Luke stands in front of him, eyes red. _

 

_ He drags in an angry breath. Hating that it is  _ him  _ he is saving instead of Rey. That this old, worthless man is the only thing that can bring him to Snoke.  _

 

_ “You know why I’m here,” he manages. _

 

_ “I didn’t think it would be you,” Luke whispers, sorrowful. _

 

_ “It shouldn’t be,” he spits. With a bitterness he’s never felt before, he reaches up his hand.  _

 

_ “Move!” he barks. _

 

_ Slowly, Luke’s hand rests in his. _

 

_ And the world falls away again. He feels the last of Rey’s strength in the motion, as she drags both him and Luke from the flow, through the power of their bond. _

 

_ \-- _

 

In an ancient basement of an old castle, Luke Skywalker takes his first breath in over three years.

 

Kylo doesn’t even wait for him to wake up, doesn’t stop for his mother at the door. Instead he moves like a storm until he reaches Takodana’s surface, until he can extend his hands and take out his rage on the surrounding trees.

 

\--

 

In Ben Kanata’s room, a short message glows on a battered datapad:

 

_ Save him. I trust you.  _ _   
_


	26. Epilogue: The Knight of Ren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT TWO'S A WRAP. thank you all so, so much for the art, edits, playlists, comments, reblogs, kudos, and just for being here <3 <3 <3

The old man stares down at him, hands folded within his robe.

 

Kylo keeps his gaze trained on the piece of durasteel in front of him. “This is going too slow,” he snaps.

 

“Nothing that lasts happens quickly,” Luke states, his voice still raspy from lack of use. He has only been able to walk for the last week or so.

 

He looks up at his uncle, anger making his words short. “You know why we’re doing this!”

 

Luke’s expression softens, saddens. Kylo doesn’t have a frame of reference, but he hears the rumors. That whatever life came back to Luke fled at the news of his last student. That he had been broken.

 

But Kylo didn’t have use or time for broken things. He needs to be ready.

 

“Again,” is all Luke says. Dispassionate. Apathetic. This truce between them is unformalized and fragile, ready to break at any moment.

 

All that motivates them is a common goal.

 

The pair of them stand in the center of a makeshift training ground, furnished from the trees Kylo cleared two weeks before in his anger. In front of Kylo is a piece of metal, lifeless and absent in the Force. But something he’s supposed to _see_ according to the foolish old man.

 

“What am I looking for,” he growls instead.

 

Luke doesn’t move. “You’ll know when you see it.”

 

An hour passes. The metal does nothing and Kylo grabs it with the Force, wadding it into ball and hurling it into the forest.

 

“We’re wasting time!”

 

Luke’s words have a hint of anger to them. “Do you think I would waste time with this?”

 

Kylo breathes, impatient and infuriated. Luke glares down, old wounds far from healed. After a tense moment, Luke only extends his hand. Effortlessly, the wadded ball of durasteel returns, smoothing out in the air before resting in front of Kylo.

 

“ _Again,_ ” is all his former Master states.

 

“This won’t stop Snoke,” Kylo spits back. “There’s nothing there!”

 

“There is, actually.”

 

At the sound of the new voice, both Kylo and Luke turn. Finn’s face is grim, eyes trained on the steel as he steps forward. Kylo glares a hole into his back, fingers ready to forcibly throw him from this training space.

 

Finn sends him a glance, unimpressed, before he crouches down in front of the metal. “Right…” His brows furrow, and he extends a single finger.

 

It grazes the metal.

 

"...here."

 

And in an instant, the metal cracks, breaks, and _shatters._

 

A tense silence rests over the three of them, before Finn stands up. Kylo exhales in disbelief. He’s never seen anything like it.

 

“What’s it called?” Finn asks Luke, as though Kylo isn’t even there.

 

Luke gives his first smile since Kylo rescued him from the flow.

 

“Shatterpoint.”

 

Finn nods, and shrugs off his jacket. Underneath, he wears training clothes. He looks at Kylo, as though daring him to argue. Kylo’s gaze stares at the powdered metal shining in the grass.

 

“Alright,” he says, watching Kylo. “Then let’s do this.”

 

Kylo glares at the traitor for a long time, feeling Luke’s awaiting silence.

 

“Let’s save Rey,” Finn emphasizes.

 

Kylo looks between the two men, and standing in the middle of his enemies he does the only thing he can do in his desperation.

 

He nods.

 

\--

 

Light years away, a prisoner is brought into an audience chamber. A stormtrooper walks on either side of her, holding an arm and dragging her across the grated metal flooring of the ship. As soon as the reach the center of the room, the stormtrooper on her left moves back. The one on her right stays.

 

The hand on her shoulder shoves her down to her knees. Rey blinks, disoriented at being away from her lightless cell for the first time in weeks. Her mouth is dry, her body weak, and her mind clouded. Feeling sick, she keeps her head bowed, but a stormtrooper grabs her by the hair and pulls her back to watch whatever it is that’s about to happen.

 

The room slowly assembles itself around her. Dark, with only a solitary light streaming down from a window centered in the ceiling. Its light washes over her, making it impossible to see into the shadows.

 

“At last we meet,” comes a voice that makes her want to pitch forward again.

 

Rey breathes, the inhales short. Frantically, she tries to break away, but she’s too weak from her time spent in captivity.

 

A figure in a gold-hemmed robe strides forward. Pale, blue eyes assess her from behind a scarred and knotted face.

 

She knows who this is. Fear makes her heart pound faster.

 

“I’ve heard so very much about you…” Snoke whispers, a hand coming to rest on the top of her head. She tries to flinch away but something holds her fast.

 

“...about your abilities.”

 

Rey’s stomach twists as she remembers Aalto’s memories. The torture.

 

She bares her teeth. “Don’t. Touch me.”

 

He gives no reaction, face passive. Eyes stagnant like pond water. “You are ready.”

 

Rey looks up, unable to hide her panic. She searches in the Force, calls out for something to help her--help _them._

 

 _This is where we’ve brought you,_ the voices whisper.

 

 _Please,_ she whispers back.

 

Snoke’s fingers withdraw from her, and she wants to collapse to the ground. “Arise, Knight of Ren...”

 

The door to the audience chamber begins to shift.

 

“...And let us begin your training.”

 

Then closes shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -[Shatterpoint](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Shatterpoint), a super rare, super #hack Force power that Luke Skywalker knows
> 
> -THERE'S A THIRD ACT DON'T WORRY. (and it's happier). I'll be posting the third (and final!) part of the Crossroads series sometime this weekend <3 Stay tuned!


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